The End of Ever After
by Nightmare Prince
Summary: For as long as she had ruled, Queen Elsa had kept her realm safe from the dangers that lurked in the shadows. She was but one of many, a single royal upon the council that safeguarded their world. However, when a new shadow rises, one more terrible and powerful than anything they have ever faced, it may be a fight that they cannot win on their own. [Multi Fairy-Tale Crossover]
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"A beautiful meal, wouldn't you say?" Rothbart sneered as he bit into a morsel of meat, the juices running down his chin, chewing on it as though it was the most delicious meal he had ever tasted.

"An acquired taste, I would have to say," replied Maleficent, setting down her knife and fork. Raising a wine-glass to her lips, she drank deeply, her eyes fixed on the wizard sitting across from her. She didn't trust him, not in the slightest, but she had come to this mausoleum that had once been a castle.

It was a common courtesy, nothing more.

"Perhaps," replied Rothbart. "It's swan, you see, roasted with honey and garlic. Odile prepared it herself."

Maleficent's lip curled in disgust as she stared down at her empty plate, and then at the large platter upon which rested the remains of the roast. A sickening sensation washed through her as she realized the origin of her meal, and she glanced at the cadaver sitting beside the two of them, clad in a blood-stained white suit. The king of Oloria, she knew, and she had wondered what Rothbart had did to the queen.

Sickening and depraved, but Rothbart had always been a pig. Now, she noted, he was a mad pig, for what he had done would no doubt invite the council's wrath. She twitched. It had been a mistake to come here.

Taking a deep breath, she decided it was past time to confront the elephant in the room before taking her leave of this place. Surely, even Rothbart would not be so mad so as to think he could get away with this? To take revenge in such a manner… they had to be more careful these days, more cunning, more methodical if they were to preserve what little freedom they still had.

She, for one, did not want to go the same way as Gothel and Jaffar, not now that she had so much more to lose.

"Why have you called for me, Rothbart?" she asked, setting down her empty glass. "Even you are not so foolish to believe I will assist you in this… endeavour."

"Come now, Maleficent, it may be a decade or two since you last dusted off your wings, but I'm certain you're up to the task of wreaking some havoc if called upon." Rothbart leaned across the table, helping himself to another serving of swan. "Besides, surely you want to get even with the dear Queen Aurora."

"Had you come to me seven years ago, I would be more accommodating, Rothbart," she replied. Beneath the table, she clenched her fists. The mention of her nemesis grated on her nerves, but she could not get involved. Should she get involved, the consequences of her actions would not be felt by her alone, but by Morgan as well.

"All I ask is that you stand with me, Maleficent, one last time. You overestimate our foes, especially now that I am so close to releasing _them._ Think of it, an army that none can stand against, who will fight for us. We can rally the others; they will flock to us once we win our first victory, and with the Faceless filling our ranks, not even the council can stand against us."

He laughed, and she shook her head. He was raving... a delusional old fool who had lost what was left of his mind since she'd last seen him.

Rising to her feet, she swept out an arm. Green light flashed from her fingers, and the table was cleared in an instant. Plates crashed into the walls, and what was left of the swan hit Rothbart in the face. With a snap of her fingers, a map appeared across the table, and tiny specks of light began to move across them.

"The armies of Corona and Arendelle will descend upon this place within the fortnight," she said, ignoring his hiss of outrage as he plucked bits of swan from his hair. "To say nothing of the forces that will be here sooner. King Eric has launched his fleet and Queen Belle has committed her knights to the fight. You cannot win this, Rothbart, not with the entire council baying for your blood, and I will not be dragged into it."

A vein pulsed in Rothbart's temple, and he lashed out so quickly that, had she not been on her guard, she would have crumpled against his spell. Instead, she deflected his blast with a flick of her wrist before relatiating. Narrowing her eyes, she sent him flying into the wall, and with a nod, the tapestries came to life, pinning him in place.

"I came here as a courtesy, my old friend," she said, walking to him, tapping her staff upon the ground. "We have been allies in the past, and we have aided each other in numerous plots over the years. Had I known that this is what I would walk into, I may have simply thrown your missive into the fireplace."

Pacing, she glanced at what remained of King Siegfried. The corpse had been knocked off his chair, his lips curled back in a ghastly grin, and there were maggots crawling from his eyes. Sickened, she turned back to Rothbart, shaking her head in disdain.

He spat in her face.

"You've grown soft, Maleficent," he exclaimed, his eyes wild and furious. "Soft and weak, and it's all because of your snivelling brat." He laughed, a bitter sound to her own ears. "You were a queen, once. What are you now? A dragon with her fangs pulled, her claws decomposing?"

She pressed the head of her staff against his throat, cutting him off, and pursed her lips. Soft, was she? Perhaps she should transform and let him see how a furious a dragon she was, how her flames still burned hotter than the seven circles of hell.

"Do not doubt my darkness, old friend," she warned, wagging a single finger in his direction. The nearest tapestry leapt for his throat, curling around his thin skin before tightening, and she drew back her staff. "But, this time, I have more than my own life to lose."

Turning, she swept out of the room, feeling the transformation take her as she emerged onto the balcony. Growing in size, her skin grew dark and scaled, and her nails curled into long, razor-sharp claws. Wings burst from her back as her horns twisted into the air, and she leapt into the sky with a loud roar.

Below her, the city of Oloria stank of death. Corpses littered the streets, and the Hollow Ones, Rothbart's new playthings, stalked the roadways. Maleficent snorted, a gust of flame blooming from her nostrils as she rose above the clouds, glad to put this evening behind her.


	2. Snow, Sun, and Roses

**Chapter One**

 **Snow, Sun, and Roses**

It was a cold, clear day; the first breath of winter already casting a lingering chill in the air. The first snowfall had come that morning, and it would not be long before the fjords were covered in a thick sheet of ice. From her balcony, she watched as the last ships pulled away from her harbour, their captain's anxious to reach warmer weather before the straits became impassable.

Elsa sighed. The council would have trouble on their voyages, and it had been for that reason alone that she had protested being the host. However, with the danger so close to her own home, she had little choice in the matter. The other royals would have to see if they were to believe, and that could not be done anywhere save for Arendelle.

It had been a decade since last the council had gathered, and to be honest, she had hoped that they would never have to convene again in her lifetime. The destruction of Oloria had been the last time they had moved out in force. Elsa shuddered at the memory. It had been Queen Ariel and herself who had finally confronted Rothbart in a throne room littered with bone and raven feathers. She shook her head. What she had done, she had done for the good of the world.

That was all the council did. They set aside their own qualms to ensure that their world saw nothing but peace and prosperity. Still, to convene in such a manner… it did not bode well for the coming days.

"You seem worried."

Elsa started at her sister's voice, having not heard the younger woman join her. Turning, she forced a smile to her lips. Anna's periwinkle dress was shrouded in a thick coat, her nose and cheeks flushed red, her belly swollen with the coming of her second child, and she looked quite uncomfortable to be on her feet.

"Heavy is the head which wears the crown," she replied, thinking of their father's words. How often had the pair of them seen him in his study, face buried in his hands, as he surveyed the state of the realm and all that needed to be done? For Elsa, those moments had ended early, but she knew her sister had enjoyed freedom of the castle for all her life.

"This time next month, the council will have dealt with the danger, as it always has," said Anna, settling down on a bench and resting her hands over her stomach. She chuckled. "Though, like as not, you will have found something new to worry about."

"Perhaps," replied Elsa, though she knew her sister was right. Ruling was a tireless task, and there was always something to fret over, be it the complaints of her people or the frayed relations with her trade partners. She snorted. Trade partners indeed. They were quite pleased to take in the salted cod and pickled herrings of Arendelle, among the other things, but when it came time for them to pay… Oh, that was another story altogether.

Realizing what she had been doing only when her sister laughed, Elsa sank into the bench and shook her head. Flicking her wrist to clear the snowdrifts from her balcony, she leaned back and rolled her eyes.

"I really have become an old worrier, haven't I?" Elsa chuckled, running a hand through her hair.

"Nick had to have inherited it from somewhere," replied Anna. "We both know that he didn't get his personality from his father."

Elsa smiled at the mention of her son, even as her heart gave a pang at the mention of his father. His visits were constant but rare, a necessary constraint of his nature, but he was the most at-ease, cheerful person that she had ever met. Laughter clung to him like snowflakes, and it hurt, even if she pretended it didn't, that he could not remain at her side.

And, there was Nicholas, her son and heir. He had been a happy child, full of mirth and glee, but the teenage years had changed him in ways she couldn't understand. The boy she had raised and loved was still there, but he was lost beneath a shroud of, for want of a better word, moodiness.

It was on days like this that Elsa wished her mother was still alive. Whilst Queen Iduna had raised two daughters, it surely could not be that much different to raising sons, could it? But, had her mother been alive, she may still be trapped in her room, and that was a thought Elsa did not like to dwell on.

"See," chided Anna. "You're doing it again. Drifting off, lost in thoughts all alone."

"I'm just thinking, Anna," said Elsa, raising her hands in surrender at her sister's look. "Fine, what do you want to talk about?"

"Oh, it's something that you will quite enjoy," Anna replied, a grin spreading across her face. "I probably should have mentioned this as soon as I arrived, though." She paused, placing her finger against her lips, and Elsa rolled her eyes at her sister's dramatics.

"You see," continued Anna, her smile widening.

"You're lucky you're pregnant." Elsa's voice was pointed, and she raised her hand up in the air, a snowball forming in her hand. She would not dare throw it, however harmless it was, but Anna didn't know that.

"The solstice is coming early this year," said Anna. She reached out and clasped Elsa's hand, wincing slightly at the frozen touch, but her grin never faded. "I know how long you've waited."

This time, the smile that spread across her lips was not a forced one, and tears welled in the corner of her eyes. It had been so long, she thought, even though it could not have been more than a year since she'd seen _him._ Once per year on the longest night of winter… that was what the Man on the Moon had decreed, and yet, it was the days which stretched between the solstice which had always seemed longer still.

"Are you sure?" she asked, composing herself and taking a deep breath. "Have you told Nick?"

"Would I lie to you, Elsa?" she asked, laughing as she climbed to her feet. "And, no, I have not told my nephew that he gets to see his father early this year. I thought that would be best served coming from you."

Stretching, Anna wobbled slightly as she took a step, and Elsa was on her feet in an instant, steadying her. Anna opened her mouth, obviously to thank her, but Elsa waved her off. They were sisters. Thanks were unnecessary, and they always had been.

"The sooner this child is out of me, the better," said Anna, nodding at her sister. "Now, if you don't mind, Nick and Kristoff are probably already at breakfast, and I need help on the stairs."

* * *

Nick lay in bed, tossing a snowball into the air to distract himself, and all he'd proved in the last few hours was that he was dismal at doing so. Melted snow covered both his bed and himself, but he ignored the wet clothes and mild chill creeping over his body. He was a child of ice and snow, after all, and the cold was not a stranger to him.

He'd known the day was coming, he'd known ever since he was old enough to understand his responsibilities as the crown prince of Arendelle. One day, he would have to marry and have heirs of his own, and he would rule from his mother's throne. He had made his peace with that fact, but he had not expected it to come so soon.

A betrothal may not be a marriage, but he was just sixteen. The knowledge that such agreements were often made between monarchs when their children were younger did not help him in the slightest, because he had never expected it to be forced on him in this manner. There had always been the glimmer of hope, however slim, that he could be like his mother. She ruled alone, and she was unmarried, despite the fact that his existence said otherwise.

But, he had heard the words from Uncle Kristoff's mouth as clear as day, when he had passed his uncle's study with Olaf in tow. The snowman had squeaked and chuckled nervously, as though it was some big surprise that had been ruined, but Nick didn't think so. For him, a betrothal was as tight a noose as his duty.

There was a soft knock on his door and he paused, swallowing.

"Go away, Olaf," he said. "I'm not in the mood for games."

"It's me," his mother replied, and Nick leapt out of bed in an instant. Yanking on his cloak to cover his sodden clothes, he rubbed at his cheeks to get rid of any tear-tracks that remained, and he hoped that she did not notice that he'd been crying. There was no need for that. Mother worried enough, and it was not his fault that he was not… normal.

He flinched at his own description of himself, ice curling around the edges of his staff. Tossing it aside, he hurried to the window seat and perched on the edge, looking out the window. She wouldn't be able to see his face unless he turned around, and he'd just pretend that the view was too captivating to miss.

It might work, he thought, knowing it likely wouldn't. It might. _Conceal, don't feel, don't let her know._

Taking a deep breath, Nick said, "Come in."

The door slid open, and he heard his mother's heels click across the floors as she entered. The chair at his desk creaked—she must have sat down—and she cleared her throat.

"You didn't come down for breakfast today," she said, and he hated the concern in her voice. It was not her job to be concerned for him. She was the queen first and his mother second, just as he was the prince first, and Nick second.

"I wasn't hungry," he replied in a stiff voice.

"Your bed is drenched," she continued, "And that cloak may be thick, but it doesn't cover your ankles. You're soaked."

"You know how magic is," he said, forcing a light chuckle. "I wanted to frost the windows, and it backfired, just a little."

"Nick," she said, "If it was anyone else in this room with you, they might buy that story, but I am your mother. I know when you're lying to me, and I know when you're troubled. Please, talk to me."

He swallowed, clenching his fists because he knew she was right. His Aunt Anna always said that he was just like his mother in that cryptic tone of hers and, somehow, his mother had always been able to pick up on his moods. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he scowled before replying.

"I heard Uncle Kristoff talking yesterday," he said, his voice hard. "Is it true that I'm being betrothed to Princess Margaret?"

His mother sucked in a breath, and he clenched his fist at the confirmation. So, it was true. He'd wanted to believe otherwise, to delude himself into thinking that he'd at least be given a say in the matter, but it was evident that he wouldn't. It was fine, he thought… it would be fine, even as a vice tightened around his chest.

"King Charming has made the offer, yes," she said, after what felt like hours of silence. "Would you be happy if I accepted?"

He opened his mouth, ready to deliver the speech he'd prepared, to tell her that he would do his duty. He would tell her that, yes, he would be happy, and that he could learn to love Margaret, perhaps, and that he would have children who would one day grow up to be kings and queens in their own right, and that he would be able to rule Arendelle as was expected.

Instead, all that came from his mouth was a single word, no louder than a squeak.

"No."

"I know," she replied, and he heard her rise from the chair. Arms wrapped around him, and he shivered in his mother's embrace, fresh tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, biting his lip and digging his nails into his thigh to compose himself.

"I know," she repeated. "And I would never do anything that would make you unhappy, Nick. You know that, right?"

A weight lifted off his chest, and he felt as though he could breathe again as he turned to face her. Ignoring the way her face fell at the sight of his bloodshot eyes and reddened nose, he nodded, forcing himself to remain calm and not reveal his secrets there and then She couldn't know… not now when he didn't even know himself, and indeed, she could never know. He loved her, he did, and he knew that she loved him, but there were some secrets that should never be spoken.

The day would come when he was forced to do his duty as the crown prince, but it was not today, and for that he more grateful than he could ever show.

"Good." He hated how soft his voice was, how his relief seemed to stain every word. "She isn't my type. I hear that the girl spends all her days in the company of dwarves and singing birds. The last time we met, she clung to my arm like a limpet for the entire ball and Cornelius had to help pry her off me just so I could use the loo."

"Says my son, the boy who spends his days in the company of a magical snowman I created when I was little older than you," Mother teased, but her smile did not quite reach her eyes. "Nick… we are royals, and arranged marriages and the like are common practice for those like us, but know that I will never force your hand."

"I know. Forgive me, Mother. I don't know what—"

"There is nothing to forgive, son," she said, wiping flecks of snow out of his face. "Now, I am asking you, not as a queen but as your mother, to dry your eyes, take a hot shower, and come down to dinner… Or, if you're not feeling up to it yet, send me a snowflake, and I'll have them send food up to your room."

She hugged him, so hard he thought his bones may break before getting to her feet and making for the door. For a moment, he wanted to call after her, to tell her the truth. It was madness, he knew, but he wanted to say them anyway.

" _Mum,"_ he wanted to scream. " _Mum, I don't want to ever marry a princess."_ The words died in his throat, however, and Queen Elsa walked out the door, leaving him alone. Shaking himself, he rubbed at his eyes before heading for his bathroom, letting a mask of calm fall over his features.

He was a prince first, and Nick second.

* * *

In the distance, Arendelle loomed across the horizon, so close that she could smell the city's famous salt cod on the breeze. It would be a short visit, she knew, for they would have to leave before the fjords froze if they were to return to Corona with their ship before the end of winter, but it was not the timing which worried her.

Instead, it was the knowledge that the council did not meet unless sorely pressed and that the last time they had moved out in force, it had been because a King had been murdered, his wife roasted, and his people butchered.

Sternly, she dismissed the thoughts. It would do her no good to worry, not whilst she was on a boat. The open sea had never troubled Rapunzel in her youth, but that was before the incident that had almost cost her the life of her son.

Perhaps it had been the years spent locked away in a tower, or perhaps it was the way the ship rocked under her feet, but she had never been much of a sailor. Still, it had only been since the _incident_ that she had been distinctly uncomfortable with sailing. She was not a strong swimmer, she knew, and the ocean was so large that not even Queen Ariel could tell you all of what lurked in the murky depths.

"For someone who hates sailing, you spend an awful lot of time on deck," said Eugene, startling her as she felt his strong arms wrap around her waist.

"I like the fresh air," she replied, relaxing in his embrace. "It is also somewhat more dignified to throw up over a ship's railing than into a bucket in our cabin."

"Positively queenesque and regal, in fact," he agreed.

"Queenesque?" She raised an eyebrow, stifling a giggle. Suddenly, the ship lurched, and she shuddered, biting her tongue to keep from crying out in alarm. Eugene tightened his grip on her, and she took a deep breath.

"You know," he said, his voice soft. "You never panicked like this on our first boat ride. You were at ease, almost as if you'd been rowing all your life." She remembered that night: the two of them on a narrow rowboat beneath a sky filled with lanterns.

"That was a different girl," she replied, wiping her hair out of her eyes. "And, besides, you know why I hate the sea." He didn't, not truly, but she had told him enough for him to understand why she never spoke of that day when their son had almost drowned. Shaking herself, she gathered her skirts around her and slipped out from Eugene's arms, ready to head back to her cabin.

Arendelle was near, she knew, and though the cold was bitter, it was much preferable to be on solid ground. It would be good to see her cousin's again, despite the circumstances not being the best. It had been nearly a year since she'd last seen Elsa and Anna, though they wrote to each other often.

Reaching out to open the door to the lower decks, she leapt back in alarm when it burst open and nearly hit her in the face. Her son rushed out with his bow in hand, his face immediately turning red as he caught sight of her. Immediately, he dropped his bow and reached out a hand to steady her.

"Sorry, Mom," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Should have slowed down."

"You should have, but you're going to do it again, aren't you," she said, raising an eyebrow as he grinned.

"What can I say? I'm like Dad that way." He laughed before picking up his bow and rushing off, no doubt to use the nearby icebergs for target practice.

"Just like your father indeed." She smiled to herself and shook her head as she left the deck behind. Eugene had been a bit of a rogue at that age, to be honest, and lazy as well. He'd gotten the archery from his father, and the need to always be involved in mischief… but the rest, that was her, right down to his golden hair. He had been excited ever since they'd told him about the trip. As much as he loved Corona, she knew that he grew lonely being an only child, and he always looked forward to the time he spent with his cousin in Arendelle.

As she entered her cabin, she froze, her gaze flicking to the note left on her pillow. The paper was familiar, a rich shade of red that haunted her nightmares, and for a moment, she considered calling for Eugene. No, she was being silly. Gothel was dead, and the memory of a witch could not threaten her family.

Reaching out, she picked up the paper and felt a hand tighten around her heart. Glancing around the room to make sure there was nobody lurking in the corners, she sank into her bed and clenched her fists. A threat… this was a threat, but from whom? And, how had they known? How could they have known?

 _Rapunzel,_

 _Underwater, nobody can hear you scream, and dead princes tell no tales._

 _-A deal's a deal_

Shaking herself, she ripped the letter to tiny shreds and stuffed it into her bag. She would dispose of the pieces that night, because Eugene and Cornelius could never know. Her family was worth more to her than her own life, and for their own sake, they must never know.

The sooner the current mess was dealt with and the sooner she returned to Corona, the better. Glancing to her luggage, she was suddenly grateful for, on a whim, packing her trusty skillet. Something told her that she would have need of it in the coming days.

* * *

As she walked down the gangplank, clasping her cloak tight around her to ward off the chill, Alyssa smiled as she caught sight of the two boys at the end of the wharf. Nicholas, for all he looked as though he had been dragged here against his will, had a smile on his face. He had grown taller than her, she realized with dismay, and he'd cut his hair. She shook her head. Of course, he'd changed. It had been three years ago since she'd seen him, and a lot had changed since then.

And, of course, a single look at Cornelius was enough to take her breath away. Pinching herself to keep from blushing, she extended a hand to the both of them, wary of her parent's eyes upon her.

Then, she gasped as she felt Cornelius pull her into a bone-crushing hug, and she was forced to hiss a reminder that her parents were watching. When he didn't let go immediately, she forced herself to relax. Cornelius had never been one for formality, and though she heard her father's tut of disapproval, Alyssa knew her mother would soothe him as she always did.

"I take it you missed me," she teased, returning the hug before prying herself away. "If you would visit Amoré more often, perhaps you wouldn't crush my spine whenever we do meet, Corny."

The last part was a whisper meant for his ears alone, and he chuckled in response.

"I would visit more often if I wasn't afraid your father might murder me in my sleep. He's downright beastly when it comes to you," replied Cornelius.

Rolling her eyes, she turned to Nicholas, who looked positively awkward, his cheeks tinged red as he watched them. Suddenly, she grew worried. If one of her closest friends was awkward being around them, what if the other royals on the docks did as well.

"It's alright," Nick offered, giving her a brief if somewhat tense hug. "Your parents are much too busy greeting my mother and fussing over my aunt to be paying you any attention right now."

"Thanks," she replied, before gathering her cloak around her. "Now, can you please escort me to the castle. I'm afraid I might freeze solid if I spent one more minute outside."

Cornelius laughed. "It doesn't get any warmer indoors if we're being honest. On the bright side, Nick has promised that the fireplaces are actually well stocked this time around."

"The last time was a mistake, as I've said before," protested Nick. "You can't just drop by unannounced on a magical carpet you bought from some sketchy peddler and expect us ready to receive guests."

"Hospitable, isn't he?" said Alyssa, and as soon as the three of them were out of her father's line of sight, she slung an arm around each of their shoulders. "It is good to see the two of you again, you know. I might have gone mad if Father refused to let me come. He's currently insisting I try and be more ladylike, and he's been talking about inviting Margaret Charming and Aquaria Starshells to court to befriend me."

"It can't be that long?" said Nick, though he was smiling. "And, for the record, if your Father thinks Aquaria is ladylike, he's never heard of the time she stole her mother's trident."

"Speaking of Margaret," said Cornelius, grinning. "Has Nick told you the good news?"

"Good news?" she asked, her mouth falling open in horror. "Nicholas Frost, I will disown you if you tell me that you're getting involved with that… that…"

"Spoiled brat?" asked Nick, rolling his eyes. "I am happy to say that King Charming has indeed sent my mother an offer of betrothal, one that we declined with equal amounts of joy." Dropping his voice to make sure that none of the passers-by heard them, he added, "I think Aunt Anna was the happiest about the rejection, to be honest. She's never liked Queen Snow, and the thought of being related sent shivers down her spine."

She laughed as they continued to the castle, catching up on all they'd missed in each other's lives. Nick was as guarded as ever, to her chagrin, but Cornelius more than made up for it with the constant flow of conversation that poured from his mouth. It had been too long, she knew, that the three of them had been apart, especially considering how close they'd grown during their early years.

She had been six when she'd befriended the boys. Lady Anna, Nick's aunt, had allowed Alyssa and Cornelius to remain in Arendelle whilst their parents marched on Oloria, and it had been in those weeks that a bond had been formed between them, one that she was certain would continue for the rest of their lives. She sighed. It did not hurt that they were the only children in Arendelle during that time who had not been afraid of her and what she could do beneath the light of the full moon.

Well, Nick had been somewhat afraid, which he would still deny to this day if it was brought up.

"Hey," she said, as they walked through the castle gates and her gaze fell upon the old fountain. "Do you think it's still there?"

"I know it is," said Nick with a faint smile. "Uncle Kristoff wanted to get rid of it when we redid the courtyard, but once I told Mother the story behind that fountain, she made sure to keep it."

"Huh? Really?" asked Cornelius. "I never took you for the sentimental sort, Nicky."

"Call me that again and I'll make sure it's snowing in your room for the rest of your stay," Nick retorted, and Alyssa giggled.

The three of them made their way towards the fountain and knelt in front of it. Nick waved his hand, screwing up his eyes in concentration, and the snow drifts cleared to reveal a few carvings in the fountain's stone base. Cornelius acted next, extending a hand, his fingers glimmering with light, and the carvings stood out in stark relief.

A rose. A sunburst. A snowflake. Carved there by young hands, the drawings were clumsy, but it brought a smile to her face nonetheless. She knew enough of the council to know that their meeting meant something big was on the horizon, and although she had her own problems to deal with as the crown princess of Amoré, the future suddenly felt a lot less daunting than it had that morning.

 **.o0o.**

* * *

 **A/N:** So, as many of you may have noticed, this is a very different sort of story than what I usually write. It's not Harry Potter related, for one thing, but I got the plot bunny for this and simply had to give it a go. I do hope you are all enjoying it, and as always, feedback and support from you guys is always appreciated. Much love, Shane xD


	3. Stolen

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Stolen**

* * *

"Hey," said Elsa, as she walked into her son's bedroom. She frowned. He was sitting in his window seat, spirals of frost curling across the room from his fingers, and for all the notice he paid her, it was as though she hadn't spoken at all.

She sighed. With Alyssa and Cornelius in the castle, she had expected her son to have come out of whatever it was that had gotten him down. It was not that he hadn't, mind you, but she had expected a lot more. Shaking her head, she reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder.

He jumped, the frosty tendrils flickering away as he turned to face her, his eyes wide. For a second, he looked at her in surprise before the guarded expression slipped back over his features, and she fought the urge to sigh. At this point, there was nobody to blame but herself. _Like mother, like son_ , her sister had said, and there were days when Elsa wondered how true that statement really was.

"Mother," he said, a faint smile on his lips. "You should have knocked."

"I did," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "You were in your own world."

He tensed, his gaze flickering back out the window, but remained silent. Taking a deep breath, Elsa took a seat beside him. A part of her wanted to force the truth out of him, here and now, to find out what it was that weighed so heavy on him these days. In the same breath, she knew that she could not. Doing so would cause more harm than good, and she knew, deep down, that he would come to her if he really needed her help.

Her son was not alone… not like she had been at his age, and nor would he ever be.

"I would have expected you to be spending time with Cornelius and Alyssa," she said, thinking it best to change the topic. She had come for a reason, after all, but it was important she checked that Nick's afternoon was free before whisking him away. He was not a little boy anymore; in fact, she realized with a pang, he was almost taller than she was. "It's not every day that they're around."

"Since Aunt Anna and Uncle Kristoff are keeping their parents entertained today, they thought it best to slip off for a bit of alone time," he said, rolling his eyes. "They asked me to join them, of course, but I'd rather not be the third wheel."

"Well then, I'm glad that I have you to myself for a bit," she said with a chuckle. Storing away the information about her nephew and the princess of Amoré for a later day, she smiled at her son's curious look. "The fjords have frozen."

No sooner had the words left her lips did his eyes light up, and something warm ignited in her chest as the worries slipped away from him as if they'd never been there. Leaping off the window seat, he all but dragged her along through the castle. She laughed as they went, the weight on her own shoulders falling to the wayside. This… this is how the two of them should be, just a mother and a son without the burden of their entire worlds upon them, but in this life, it was not so simple. Still, Elsa lived for these moments, more than she would ever let on.

As they left the castle, she gestured for the guards not to follow as Nick led them through the gates. The city was wide and sprawling, blanketed in snow, and then there were the winding paths to the fjords. There were no words or directions needed on her part, however. He knew the way.

It was a tradition for them, one that had started on his very first winter, though he had still been a few months old at the time. She'd had to carry him back then, snuggled against her and shrouded in thick furs.

The fjords of Arendelle were a wondrous place in winter, a frozen expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see. With a soft smile, she ran her fingers along her pumps, creating slender blades of ice across the soles. At her side, her son did the same, running the head of his staff against his boots.

"I thought you didn't need that these days?" she asked, gesturing at the staff.

He shrugged, looking apologetic. "I can work my magic well enough without it, but it still gives me the control I need for more precise things."

"Your father has to use a staff as well, you know," she reminded him, brushing the snow out of his hair. "He would be so proud of you, you know that, right?"

Nick blushed before following her across the frozen surface of the lake, gliding across the ice with all the grace of a boy who'd been skating since he'd first begun to walk. A hundred memories of former winters flickered through her mind as they moved, at ease, silent but both enjoying themselves.

If a stranger asked, Elsa knew that she would never be able to explain this, or why it was that both she and her son always made it a point to go skating as soon as the fjords were frozen enough to bear their weigh. She could never put into words how this relaxed them, how it was just like Christmas, Easter, or the Winter Solstice… just a day they both looked forward too. To her, it was just something they did, something they shared.

And, more than anything, it was something that never failed to make Nick smile.

Now, though, she was ready to put a bigger smile on his face. Grabbing his wrist as he spiralled past her, she spun him around so he was facing her. Their cheeks were tinged red from the cold, and his eyes gleamed a brilliant blue as she smiled.

"Nick, I wanted to be sure before I told you, but the Solstice will be coming sooner than usual this year. In three weeks, to be precise. Your father will be able to visit early this year."

And, when he let out a delighted cry and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, her heart soared.

* * *

When considering the places Cornelius would like to visit, the castle of Arendelle was not at the very top of his list. It was far too cold, in his opinion, and the castle was rather known for its solitude. Of course, he could go outside—skiing, skating, and snowball fights were all rather fun—but that would mean leaving the fleeting warmth of the castle, and Cornelius wasn't sure he was that bored.

Of course, he reasoned, there were some things about Arendelle that he absolutely adored. The quiet castle had many empty towers and alcoves, the perfect place for secret liaisons and, as of late, the need for those had only grown. He sighed. If things were simpler, there'd be no need for these. Life, however, was never simple for a prince, especially one who loved a princess that could never truly be his.

Alyssa moved against him, pulling at her cloak so that it covered her more tightly, and he slid his arms around her, trying to get comfortable. The pair of them were sitting at the top of the North Tower, a place Nick had assured him nobody ever visited, and for the moment, they were content to simply hold onto each other and forget the world around them.

"You were right, by the way, down at the docks," he said, pressing a kiss to her brow. "I have missed you."

"You see me every day," she replied, a teasing glint in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"Two-way mirrors are hardly the same as holding you in my arms, Alyssa," he said. Their daily conversations were sweet, of course, but it all paled in comparison to simply being with her. "Now, if I had my way, I'd be visiting Amoré at least once a month."

"And my father would take one look at you before banishing you from the castle." She sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. "I've overheard him talking with Mother, recently. He wants to offer my hand to a prince with impeccable lineage, not one who—"

"Not one whose father was a former thief," he replied, hoping he had kept the bitterness out of his voice. The look on her face told him he had not been successful, and he closed his eyes as he felt her arms wrap around him.

"He's old-fashioned," she said as if that made it all better. "For what it's worth, my choice would always be you."

"Enough about your father," he said, flushing at her admission. It was worth a lot to him, enough to dull the phantom knife that buried itself in his chest whenever he contemplated their future. They were still young, he reminded himself, and as his mother always said, the light will shine through in the end. "Let's talk something else."

"We could," she said, her voice husky as she climbed into his lap. "Or we could just be quiet." Before he could reply, her lips were on his, and he closed his eyes. The kiss started soft and quickly grew heated, his hands running down her back and hers burying themselves in his hair. Then, her hands slipped from his head to the front of his tunic, fumbling with the buttons.

"Alyssa, no," he protested, though it killed him to stop her because he wanted this as much as she seemed to. "Not like this."

She pulled away, cheeks stained red, and she ran a hand along his cheek. Lifting her knuckles to his lips, he kissed them, a faint smile on his lips as he did so. The cold still lingered in the room, but holding her in this manner warmed him more than a roaring fire. He swallowed, shifting his legs ever-so-slightly so that he could hide the effect she'd had on him.

"Why?" she asked. "If you're concerned for my virtue, I've been riding horses since I was seven. Nobody would bat an eye if I lost my maidenhead to a saddle."

"It's not that," he said, blushing. "I don't want your first time to be in a draughty tower with an audience of dust bunnies looking on." Leaning in, he rested his brow against hers and continued. "I want it to be in a candlelit room with rose petals on the bed, you know… the romance that you deserve. And, I don't want to have to sneak out after, because I'm worried we'll be caught." _And, one day, I want to marry you and make you my Queen._

"You're such a romantic," she replied.

"Only for you."

A throat cleared, and the two of them leapt apart as though stung. Alyssa grasped her cloak around herself, and Cornelius crossed his legs to hide the obvious bulge before the two of them turned to the door, wide-eyed and ready with their excuses. Not that anything would explain the position they'd been caught in, but they had to at least try.

"King Eugene," gasped Alyssa, her cheeks blazing redder than her hair.

"Dad," groaned Cornelius, running a hand through his hair.

"Cornelius, Princess Alyssa," exclaimed Eugene, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I thought we were just saying each other's names."

"I should go," said Alyssa, and before Cornelius could say anything, she had gone. Pushing past the King of Corona with a muttered apology, she disappeared through the door, leaving Cornelius with his evidently amused father.

"Care to explain?" asked Eugene, coming to lean against the tower wall beside him. "Though, I'll wager I heard enough."

"It's a good thing I know not to bet against you, then, isn't it?" groused Cornelius, looking up his at his father. "You won't tell anyone about this, will you? Please?"

"I'm good at keeping secrets for the most part, though we both know your mother can read me like a book. I suppose it's a good thing she already knows, then?"

"How?" he asked, resigned.

"Rapunzel is many things, but a fool is not one of them." He smiled fondly before taking a seat beside him son, reaching out to ruffle his hair in that way he did. "If I were a betting man, which I am, I would wager that Queen Belle is more than aware of this little tryst as well. King Adam, not so much, but that's only because the man can't see further than his own snout."

"It isn't a tryst." Cornelius rolled his eyes at his father before growing tense. Could that be true? Did the Queen of Amoré know what was going on between himself and Alyssa? If so, why hadn't she put a stop to it? Or, had she? Had she forbidden Alyssa from seeing him? The alternative answer was that she didn't take as hard a stance on marriage prospects as her husband, but he didn't want to believe that. No, that was the road of false hope, and he refused to allow the allure to tempt him.

"Oh, yes. Rose petals and candlelight, was it? You get that from your mother, I'd have to say. Though, she prefers lanterns, oddly enough. We've nearly set the castle on fire more than a few times using those indoors."

"Dad," he groaned. "Too much information."

"Is it? Imagine how I felt walking in on my son about to make me a grandfather in a dusty tower of all places. I assure you, I'm just as embarrassed as you are. Now, if we could speak seriously for a moment."

"Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"You always have a choice, Cornelius," said Eugene. "For one, you could have spoken to your mother and I when this started, and we could have made arrangements so that you didn't have to sneak around like a thief in the night. For another, you could have locked the door if this room was going to be occupied tonight."

"DAD!"

"Fine, fine." Eugene held up his hands in surrender, and then he sighed. "Look, Cornelius, I know it hasn't been easy for you. It's hard enough for me. I wasn't born for this life. I grew up in an orphanage and grew up to be one of the most notorious thieves in Corona, and I may not always let it show, but I know that half the council looks down on my humble beginnings."

"But—"

"I'm not finished," said Eugene. "As I was saying, that's all right. Because, at the end of the day, I can't stand half of them either. The Charmings give me indigestion, Queen Aurora is a bore, and King Adam seems to forget that he spent half his life shedding on the furniture. The point is, screw them, and screw what they want and expect. What do _you_ want?"

"I am the crown prince of Corona. I can't just run around doing what I want!"

"Why not?" asked Eugene, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. "Remember, Cornelius, that your mother is one of the most respected queens in the realm, and she married an orphaned, lowborn thief because she loved him. What's stopping you from doing what you want other than yourself?"

His father walked out of the tower, and Cornelius sighed as he turned to look out the window. The king had given him a lot to think about, and for the first time in a long time, he shoved aside his worries to truly think about what was it that he wanted for his future.

* * *

Arendelle, Belle had realized, was not as bad as she had expected. Of course, it was as cold as she remembered, and the entire place was entirely too white, but the company she found in her fellow queens helped the time go by faster as they awaited the arrival of the other royals. The council was too meet this weekend, and to her delight, certain members had elected to delay their arrival to the very last minute. Not that she would mention names, of course. She was above that, truth be told, but if someone pressed her… She coughed. _Cinderella._

Sultanah Jasmine had arrived a few hours ago with her husband, Sultan Aladdin, upon a flying carpet that had currently taken up residence in one of the castle's many rooms. What a carpet needed with a bedroom, Belle didn't know, but it had seemed somewhat sentient. Any other queen might be perturbed, but then again, most other queens had not lived in a castle in which the staff had been transformed into furniture and cutlery for a few years.

Queen Ariel and King Eric had arrived shortly after. Surprisingly, Ariel had been aboard her husband's flagship rather than swimming beside it. As it turned out, it had been because the straits were growing impassable, and she had been forced to clear their way with her trident.

Now, the queens had left their husbands to their own devices, and were lounging about Elsa's private dining chamber for afternoon tea. It was good, Belle thought, that it was just the six of them. The chamber was not built to house so many, and with the size of some of the absent queen's egos, it would have been a very tight fit.

"I do believe congratulations are in order, Elsa," said Belle, her teacup clinking against her saucer as she set it down.

She glanced around the room at her fellow queens, all of whom had looked up in curiosity. There were six of them in total, a far cry from the entire council, but as Lumiére always said, friendships should be measured by quality and not quantity. His words were true. She always enjoyed the rare afternoons she spent with the people in this room. That was not to say that she did not like the other queens who had not yet arrived in Arendelle. She liked them all to varying degrees, thank you very much… save for Queen Cinderella.

That woman could take her glass slipper and shove it.

"Congratulations?" asked Elsa, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," said Belle. "A little bird tells me you recently rejected a betrothal offer from King Charming on behalf of Nicholas. It is my duty as a queen to offer you my utmost congratulations on not ending up related to that lot."

Across the room, Jasmine snorted into her tea while Ariel chuckled. Anna looked as though she had just decided Belle was her new best friend, and Rapunzel nearly choked on her biscuit. It was definitely not the most regal behaviour, Belle mused, but her friends and she had never been the most orthodox of royals.

"And what, pray tell, would you have offered me had I accepted?" asked Elsa, once she was done laughing.

"My condolences," replied Belle, sending the room into a fresh wave of mirth.

"Come now, Belle, I'm sure Margaret Charming is not as bad as her mother," said Ariel. As always, her tail had become legs the minute she had left the sea, and the sheen of her green scales hidden by an ankle-length skirt.

"The last time the Charmings visited Agrabah, I am fairly sure that the girl called Aladdin an upjumped street-rat," interjected Jasmine. "She's very lucky that Rajah wasn't around to hear that one."

"I caught her telling her little friends how nice it was for her parents to extend Eugene an invitation at her debutante ball." Rapunzel pointed out. "Apparently, she had only wanted me in attendance."

"In which case, I am beyond thrilled that Caspian already has his sights set on Princess Sigrun. My son is safe from that girl's clutches," said Ariel, raising up her hands in surrender.

Belle laughed. It was good to let go of her worries for a time and simply enjoy the company of her friends. The ruling of Amoré kept her busy, and now there was a new danger that had forced them to gather for the first time in a decade. Then, there was being the mother of a teenager… and of course, there was Alyssa's beau. Adam didn't like the boy for reasons that made no sense to Belle, and as of late, it had been a constant battle in their marriage.

Over the years, Belle knew that she made many compromises for the sake of placating her husband, but their daughter's happiness was where she drew the line.

"I wouldn't sleep a wink if I left Cornelius in charge of Corona in my absence," said Rapunzel, bringing her out of her thoughts. "I trust him, mind you, but he's seventeen and more than a little too impulsive."

"You're telling me," said Jasmine. "It took Aladdin weeks to convince me that Ali was old enough to not burn down Agrabah in our absence."

"I would say that I'm lucky in that regard," said Ariel. "Sebastian and Urchin are more than enough to keep Aquaria in check whilst I'm away from Atlantica. And, Caspian may be young, but he inherited his good sense from his father, so he's more than capable of holding Aquitania together for a week or two."

"How in the world do the two of you manage?" asked Belle with a frown. "Adam and I find ruling one kingdom exhausting enough, but you have two."

"It's simple enough once you get used to it," replied Ariel. "Rough the first few years, of course, but Eric and I figured out a system that works. I rule Atlantica, he rules Aquitania, and it's a good thing his palace in on the beach so I can come and go with ease."

"That sounds like a headache, to be honest," said Elsa, running a hand through her hair. "I love Arendelle, but I can't deny there are nights when I think it would be better to be a citizen than the queen."

"For one thing, we wouldn't have had to do battle with villainous sea-witches during our teenage years." Ariel pointed out, though there was an amused glint in her eyes.

"Speak for yourself. I was a citizen of Amoré, and I still ended up having to deal with the village idiot trying to kill my husband. He nearly succeeded, to be honest," said Belle.

"Don't look at me," said Jasmine. "I had Jafar to deal with. And, if we're talking about those stories right now, do you have anything stronger than tea, Elsa?"

"The cupboard, third shelf," said Elsa, not turning. "Oh, and by the way, I can do you all one better. I ended up becoming the villain who nearly froze all of Arendelle."

As they commiserated, Jasmine returned from the cupboard with a bottle of wine and poured out a healthy serving into each cup, save for Anna's. Handing them out, she smiled before returning to her seat and raising her glass.

"A toast," she said, "To the coming days in which we will all have to be nice to the real villains, Queen Snow, Queen Cinderella, and Queen Aurora; three queens who did absolutely nothing and yet somehow still act superior to the rest of us."

Belle choked on her wine.

* * *

Prince Ali could get used to this.

The minute his mother, Sultanah Jasmine, had left with his father for Arendelle, he had come to the realization that he had the palace of Agrabah to himself. Sure, the guards and servants still inhabited the place, but for the moment, he was the one in charge. In his parents' absence, it was his duty to sit the throne and ensure the realm remained in order, and of course, it was also his duty to make himself at home.

His first act of rebellion had been to break into the wine cellar and help himself to some of his mother's favourite vintages, and he had taken a cask of his father's beloved beer back to his room, though he'd had to enlist two of the guards to help him in that regard. Of course, gold had crossed hands to ensure his parents did not hear of this, but he was confident that nobody would tell.

The people loved their mischievous prince who'd spent most of his childhood running across the city's rooftops with his father and visiting the market with his mother to help those in need. They, and the inhabitants of the palace especially, would never rat him out.

Grinning at the slew of thoughts, he gulped down another cup of beer before getting to his feet. Night had stolen over Agrabah, and the castle had gone strangely silent after he'd dismissed the last of the maids for the night. Just because he fancied a late night did not mean it was right to keep them up late when they had their chores to do in the morning, and he did pride himself on his conscientiousness.

"Rajah," he called, "It's time for bed."

The old tiger purred before padding after him, letting him run his hand through the thick fur along his back. Perhaps, had his faithful friend not been here, he would have been more nervous about being left alone in such a time, but with Rajah here, he knew that no harm could come to him.

Rajah had been just six when his parents had met, and the decades had weathered the tiger. However, though his fur grew grey in places and he favoured his left foreleg when walking, he was still as fierce as ever, and whilst he spent his days lazing about the gardens, there was never a winter night when he did not curl up beside Ali's bed.

When Ali had been younger, the tiger had curled up beside him, letting him snuggle into the thick fur for comfort and warmth, but he was not a child anymore. It was rather ludicrous for a seventeen-year-old to sleep with his arms around a tiger, to be honest, but that did not mean he did not take comfort in Rajah's presence.

Slipping beneath the sheets with the knowledge that he would wake to a pounding head the next day, he closed his eyes and pulled the covers up to his chin. The winters were always mild in Agrabah, but the nights still grew far too cold for his liking. In fact, his dislike for the cold had been what had made him beg off the trip to Arendelle in the first place, something his mother could empathise with.

He must have fallen asleep because when he woke to the sound of Rajah growling, it was much colder than it had been when he had first come to bed. Rubbing at his eyes, he glanced about the darkened room. Rajah stood at the side of his bed, his lips curled back in a feral snarl, and he growled at the door.

"Rajah," he groaned, reaching out to ruffle the aged tiger's fur. "It's too late to be growling."

The tiger's growling became louder, and as the allure of sleep began to fade, Ali realized that something was very wrong. His tiger never growled unless there was a threat in the near vicinity, and it was not like Rajah to be so on edge. Slipping out of bed, he slipped on his shoes and felt about his bedside table for his favourite dagger.

"What is it, Rajah?" he asked, swallowing. "Is somebody there?"

The tiger nodded and began to stalk towards the door, and Ali hurried to keep up. Glancing out the door, the feeling of unease intensified, because the corridors were dark, too dark considering the lamps were always lit. Biting his lip, he reached out a hand.

"Rajah," he said, keeping his voice low as he ran a hand along the tiger's head. "Stay with me."

Rajah purred in response, his body still tensed and poised to strike, and Ali took a deep breath as he tightened his grip on his sword. Padding across the silent castle, he let Rajah lead the way, keeping a keen eye on the shadowed corners in search of what had caused the disturbance.

Quickly, the reason for the ominous silence became clear. The guards were asleep, slumped in their posts. When he reached out to try and rouse one, Rajah growled in warning, and he yanked his hand back as though stung. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the sleeping guards, and he saw that there were dark smudges under their eyes and on their hands.

"Magic," he hissed, and had Rajah not been at his side, he would have run for his room and slammed the door behind him. It was clear that the castle had been infiltrated, and it was even clearer that he was the only person still awake within the walls.

Then, a cold chill ran across his spine and Rajah let out a thunderous roar before shoving him aside. Prince and tiger went sprawling to the corner of the corridor as… something dashed past them, something with no real shape or substance, but yet was there all the same. Glass shattered and his heart nearly gave out as he scrambled to his feet.

Rushing to the window, he watched the thing, whatever it had been, whipping through the sky. Rajah rubbed against his leg, his presence helping settle him, but dread began to well in his chest as he looked back in the direction the shadow had come from. The palace vaults were filled with a great many treasures, but there was something there, something his parents had sealed away with the intention of never letting it see the light of day.

"Rajah," he said, taking off in the direction of the vaults. Aware of the tiger running at his side, he took the stairs two at a time until he reached the lower levels, and his heart sank at the sight of the vault doors hanging off their hinges. How had he not heard? And what had been sealed away… Oh, Godmother have mercy, he hoped that it was still there.

No sooner had he stepped into the vault did he shake he close his eyes, having to lean upon the tiger for support. It figured that on the first night his parents had left him in charge of Agrabah, something of this magnitude would occur. Clenching his fists, he knelt down to ruffle the tiger's fur. Rajah purred, resting a comforting paw on his shoulder, but Ali knew that the dread he felt was shared between them.

Rajah had been there, after all, when his parents had defeated that odious man the first time, and the tiger remembered, better than most, how close they had come to losing everything.

"We need to send word to Arendelle, Rajah," he said softly. "My parents need to know that Jafar's lamp is gone."


	4. Enter the Dragon

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 **Enter the Dragon**

* * *

"You know, it's quite nice spending a few hours together, just the two of us," said Alyssa, hooking her arm with his as they made their way down the streets of Arendelle. "It might just remind you that we're friends."

Nick rolled his eyes. The day was rather warm, given the heavy snowfall they'd experienced over the last few days, though Alyssa had looked at him as though he was insane when he'd shown up without a jacket. It was amusing, in its own way, he reckoned. Here he was, able to take a dip in a frozen lake without batting an eye, and yet his friends sniffled at the mildest draught. It was not even as if he was exaggerating. She had bundled up like an Eskimo: a thick red coat with fur lining the hood, boots, a scarf, gloves, a knit hat… she had probably purchased Oaken's entire stock of winter wear the minute she'd set foot in Arendelle.

"I do remember we're friends." He pointed out, nudging her in the shoulder. "I just try to avoid having to witness you eat my cousin's face."

"I haven't eaten anyone's face," she retorted, raising an eyebrow. "And besides, that happened one time when I was ten, and the healers fixed the woodcutter right up."

"Remind me to never get on your bad side during the full moon," teased Nick, remembering the incident as if it happened yesterday. He had not seen it firsthand, but royals tended to talk, and Uncle Kristoff had deemed the story of Alyssa mauling one of her citizens to be acceptable dinner conversation.

"So, now that you've used your excuse, how about the real reason," she said, "I've never seen someone who spent so much time moping around his own castle."

"It's nothing," he replied, forcing a laugh. Agreeing to show her around the shops had been a mistake, he realized. Alyssa was not like most people; once she'd gotten an idea in her head, she didn't rest until it had been seen through. Still, it wouldn't hurt for him to smile more, at least until Alyssa and Cornelius returned to their homes.

"Oh." She gasped, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Is it your powers? Is this unbearably cold winter your doing, and now you're upset that you can't turn it back?"

He couldn't help but laugh at that. Rolling his eyes, he nudged her in the ribs. "The funny thing about that is that this winter is actually mild by Arendelle standards."

"Is it Margaret, then? Are you…" she drifted off, her face twisting in disgust. "Are you actually disappointed that you aren't marrying her?"

"Godmother, no." He chuckled. The tension lifted off his shoulders, if only just a little, and she giggled at his side. "If anything, I was in a much worse mood until that marriage was firmly off the table."

He fell silent as they reached their destination and, with a nod of his head, he let her enter the building ahead of him. The jeweller they were visiting kept a small store, but he was the best in Arendelle, as Nick had assured her. In the end, he'd been forced to show Alyssa the circlet he wore at formal events in order to prove that the craftsmanship was good.

Nick liked the circlet, simple though it was. Had he wanted, he could have always chosen one of the many crowns they kept down in the castle vaults, but they'd all been gaudy monstrosities. He'd have to wear one eventually, but for the moment, he could still remain Nick in a token few regards. _Prince first_ , _Nick second_ , a small voice whispered in his head, which he immediately shoved aside.

Nodding at the jeweller, an elderly man with a tuft of white hair, Nick followed Alyssa around as she perused the many showcases. Having company wasn't all bad, he thought, as he flashed his friend a thumbs up at the pair of snowflake-shaped earrings she was looking at.

"I know," she said, as they walked out of the store, but her tone was light and teasing. "Have you knocked up one of your subjects? That would put a damper on most prince's moods, I'd imagine."

Without thinking, he replied, "Trust me, that's one thing you never have to worry about as far am I'm concerned."

As soon as the words left his lips, he gasped, clapping a hand to his mouth and mentally kicking himself. How had he just said that? Oh, Godmother… He'd let his guard slip because it had been Alyssa, his friend since childhood, but no… he could still salvage this. What he'd said could mean a lot of things, and he could play it off. He was certain he could. There was no reason for her to read into things. Everything would be fine. It would. It had to.

In that moment, he wasn't aware that he was breathing heavier, that his eyes were as wide as saucers, or that his fingers were trembling. All he was aware of was Alyssa, looking at him with a curious expression, and he could practically see the puzzle pieces falling into place behind her brown eyes.

"You know," he said quickly, too quickly, "Because I'm not the type to sleep around with my subjects, you know. That just isn't something I'd do." _Nice save, genius_. He stifled a groan.

"That isn't it, is it?" she said, her voice soft as she hooked her arm with his again, a sad smile on her face. "Oh… Nick."

"What do you mean that isn't it. Of course it is!" He was speaking too quickly, and his voice was too high. He blinked at the familiar sting in the corners of his eyes. No… Not now. Without meaning too, a jolt of frost burst out of his fingers, and a small ring of jagged icicles appeared at his feet. Clenching his fist, he looked away from her, trying to remain calm as they walked back to the castle.

"Nick," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm still your friend, you know. I still care."

"Well, of course you're still my friend." Making sure that nobody was looking, he yanked her by the wrist, pulling the both of them into an alley. With a flick of his wrist, snow cascaded from the rooftops, hiding them both from the view of any passers-by. "There's nothing different about me. I'm not… I'm not…"

He wanted to scream, but then her arms were around him, soft and warm. He trembled, biting at his lip as he felt the first tear slip down his cheek, and he gasped for breath. His chest was so tight, his stomach was a knot, but she was here. She, a future queen, had just discovered his darkest secret, and she was still here.

"It's going to be all right, Nick," she said, patting him on the back. "I don't care."

"I care," he screamed. Quickly remembering that he was in public, he pushed her away and dropped his voice. "I am a future king," he hissed. "What kind of prince is more turned on by his fellow princes than the princesses who want to marry him? What kind of king would rather rule with a king at his side than a queen?"

The air was growing colder around him, and Alyssa shivered as it began to snow, harder than it had last night. His tears froze upon his cheeks. Turning, he slammed his fist into the nearest dumpster, clenching his teeth and pain shot through his knuckles.

"You can't tell anyone," he said. "Promise me that you won't tell."

"It's not my secret to share," she whispered. "And I would never betray your trust, Nick. I care about you, you know that right?"

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he swiped his hand over his eyes to wipe away the frosty tear-tracks and forced himself to relax.

"I know," he said with a tone of finality. Waving a hand, he cleared the snowdrifts and began the long walk to the castle, dimly aware that she was walking beside him. That she knew changed nothing. In the end, Nick Frost would do what he always did, for he was a prince first and himself second. He would do his duty to the throne.

* * *

"I do think those two look good together," said Adam, glancing down from the balcony.

Belle sighed, closing her book and getting off the bed before walking to the balcony. Looking at the courtyard below, she saw her daughter walking up to the castle with Elsa's boy, Nick, on her arm. It was hard to tell from this distance, but he looked rather tense. It was not as though teenagers did not fight from time to time, and if they were walking back together, whatever argument they might have had could not have been as bad.

"Perhaps I could speak to Queen Elsa and get to know more about her son. Alyssa and he are friends, are they not? It would be a good match."

At this, Belle raised an eyebrow. Her husband must be both blind and deaf to have not noticed how smitten their daughter was by Cornelius, the prince of Corona… or, and as she suspected, he was simply being wilfully ignorant. She had seen them together when they'd first arrived in Arendelle, and she'd seen the way her daughter smiled when Cornelius had embraced her. Thankfully, her husband had not complained about it that night.

She wasn't sure she could take much more of his whining, to be quite honest.

"Maybe," said Belle, choosing her words with care. "But, you should already know what my thoughts on this matter are."

"Indeed," replied Adam. "However, if I were to let her follow her heart, we both know exactly where it is that she would end up." He sneered. "She is still young, and clearly does not know what is best for her."

"She is not much younger than I was when I made my choice," said Belle. "Truly, Adam, one would think you bear Cornelius Fitzherbert a personal grudge."

"My dear, your friendship with Queen Fitzherbert clouds your judgement," he said, his tone too placating for her liking. "I will admit that the boy does have a certain charm about him, but one has to consider his father."

Belle closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that she was not going to like what was coming. Gripping the railing, she forced a smile to her lips.

"What, pray tell, is wrong with his father?" she asked, forcing every ounce of sweetness into her voice. Her husband baulked, if only a little. He knew her well enough to know that she did not get angry, as did most women when arguing with their husbands. No, she remained polite and sweet, even at the most trying of times, but like the petals of the rose, her smile concealed a dozen thorns.

"Come now, Belle, the man has been a thief for most of his life. I am not quite certain what King Frederic was thinking when he allowed his daughter to marry such a man if we are to be completely honest. Lowborn, a criminal… hardly a fitting match for a princess."

"Lowborn?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "After all these years, have you truly forgotten where it is that _I_ am from?"

He raised a hand, but she shook her head, her smile taut across her face. No, he had said his peace. Now, he would listen, for it was past time that a few things were made perfectly clear to her husband. A queen she may be, but she had never forgotten her roots, despite it being clear that Adam had.

"My father was an inventor… an inventor you held captive in your castle, by the way, but he was as lowborn as they came. My mother was the youngest daughter of a merchant, but she died when I was very young, as you well know. I grew up in a very small village in Amoré, sewing my own clothes and keeping my father's house. Had my father not been taken captive by you, it is very likely that I would still be there right now, a humble girl with a humble family."

"You know this, Adam. Tell me, how is it that you could marry me, despite knowing were it is that I come from, but you turn up your nose at the very idea of our daughter wanting to be with, not a beggar, not a thief, not the child of an inventor from a small village, but a fellow royal?"

Her husband sucked in a breath, clenching his fists. In his eyes, she could see the shadow of the beast, but there was no furniture for him to smash in anger, nor was there a castle filled with servants to placate him with lies. No, here it was just the two of them, and he could not run off to his study upon hearing things that he did not like.

"That is not fair, Belle," he said, finally. "You proved yourse—"

"Proved myself?" She spluttered. That was a new one, she had to admit, and the insinuation rankled. "I had to _prove myself_? Prove what? That I was worthy of marrying the future King of Amoré?"

"That is not what I meant and you know it." He growled, teeth flashing. "What I meant was that you showed the world that you are a woman of courage, integrity, and bravery. You showed—"

"You held my father prisoner!" She cut him off, throwing her arms into the air. "You held _me_ prisoner! I grew to love you after, I will not deny, and yes, I will love you to my dying day, but even you must know how… how twisted the start of our story was, _Beast_!" The word slipped out without warning, and just like that, he was looking at her as though she had lost her mind. It had been decades since she'd been angry enough to use that word on him, but today… she bit her lip, today, his words had been too much.

She had always done what was required of her as a queen, and in most matters of state, she deferred to her husband. However, never would she stand idly by whilst her daughter's fate was so capriciously decided. Never.

"You swore that you would never hold that against me, Belle dé la Rosa," he said, and there was anger in his voice. But, there was hurt as well, and she shook herself to keep from going across the balcony to comfort him.

"And you swore that you would never again do anything that would make me unhappy, King Adam of Amoré," she retorted, gathering her skirts around herself as she turned to leave. "It would appear that we have both broken our vows."

Tears welled in her eyes as she stormed out of the room, but she wiped them away with her sleeve. She would not cry, not now. Taking a deep breath as she steadied herself in the corridor, she held her head high as she walked on, ignoring the weariness in her chest.

* * *

"Looking back, do you think we should have acted differently?" asked Elsa, breathing a weary sigh as she sank into her chair, propping her head up with one hand.

"We still don't know if it's her," said Ariel, sparing a quick glance at the door.

Taking her friend's meaning, Elsa flicked her wrist in the direction of her study door. Ice formed around the cracks and over the handle, sealing it and preventing anyone from stumbling in on their conversation. This was not a matter that could ever become common knowledge to the council.

It had been their decision, Ariel's and Elsa's, on that fateful night in Oloria, the night that they had confronted Rothbart and ended his reign of terror.

That morning, a message had arrived from Prince Ali, requesting that his parents return to Agrabah at once due to a dire emergency. When Sultan Aladdin had looked at the letter, his face had drained of colour, and he had left on his flying carpet within the hour. Jasmine remained to represent their interests at the council meeting, but no amount of coaxing would get her to reveal what secrets had been contained within the letter.

It was no secret that the royals had their own methods of keeping things private. Long ago, she and Nick had devised a way of sending each other messages should something go wrong. Of course, there were also the code words that the royal court of Arendelle were all privy too, messages that would be meaningless to anyone other than each other.

She did not put it past Jasmine and Aladdin to have placed such measures in place with their son. For all she knew, it could be something completely unrelated to why the council was meeting, but over the years, she had learned that it was often best to prepare for the worst. That way, one would be ready for what was to come.

"There have been Hollow Ones spotted on the roads, as of late. Rumours, of course, but when so many people whisper the same thing, there must be some kernel of truth hidden beneath the lies," said Elsa, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I know that killing her would have been wrong, but imprisonment may have been better than just letting her go."

"During the fall of Oloria, Odile was no older than we were when we made our mistakes," Ariel pointed out, though her voice made it clear that she too had misgivings. "Tell me truly, Elsa, if your father was a villain, would you still stand at his side? I know that I would have supported mine, no matter what he was."

Elsa chuckled, a bitter sound to her own ears. "My father was not a villain, but he certainly wasn't a hero. Have I never mentioned who it was who kept me locked in my room all those years?"

"You never did, but it isn't hard to guess," replied Ariel, reaching out to take her hand. "Odile was a child. We couldn't, in good conscious, kill her after she surrendered."

"She knew her father's plans, all of them," said Elsa. "And, as you've mentioned, she has good reason to hate the council, the two of us in particular. It was we who killed Rothbart."

"And, if Odile has the good sense that the Godmother gave a pumpkin, then she'll keep her head down for the rest of her life. Rothbart was a formidable opponent, and we were able to take him down together, and I made it clear that we were just a facet of the council's power."

"An admirable threat, but at the risk of sounding vain, you and I are the council's heaviest hitters, in a matter of speaking."

"There is no vanity in honesty, as Sebastian always says," replied Ariel, getting to her feet. "I think it best we simply lay the matter to rest for the moment. There is no proof that Odile is behind any of what is going on, but if it is, then we will deal with her, as we always have dealt with these crises."

"The years have hardened you, Ariel," said Elsa, dispelling the ice from the door. As the two of them walked out of the room, side by side, her friend sighed and took her hand.

"Losing Melody was what hardened me, my friend. I cannot say that I like the person I have become, but I can say that never again will my children be in such peril."

There was little that Elsa could say to that, so she simply hugged her friend before they continued on their way. Melody, the first princess of Aquitania and Atlantica, was the one child that Ariel rarely, if ever, spoke off, and perhaps it was because of the pain which came with such discussions. Elsa shuddered. If she lost Nick, she was not sure what she would do, or if she would have the strength to go on, as Ariel had.

As they made their way to the grand dining room, she paused in the entrance foyer. There was a lot of noise coming from the courtyard, and just as she was about to excuse herself to find the source of the disturbance, the doors swung open. Kristoff stood there, looking incredibly annoyed, but Elsa's eyes were focused on the people behind him.

"Well, it was nice while it lasted," muttered Ariel.

King Charming strode in as though he owned the place, flashing them all his most winning smile. At his side, Queen Snow minced into the room, her waist too tiny to be completely natural. Her hands were barely visible beneath her rings and bracelets, and it seemed the years had only made her worse. Finally, Princess Margaret walked in, dressed in a sickeningly-pink dress and wearing what looked like an entire bouquet in her hair.

 _The Charmings_ , thought Elsa, resisting the urge to scowl. _Weren't they just her favourite people in the world._

"King Charming, Queen Snow, Princess Margaret," she said, offering them her most disarming smile. "Welcome to Arendelle. I regret that I was unable to meet you at the docks, but I trust that your journey went well."

"It was terrible," said Snow, sniffling. "The weather is horrendous for sailing at this time of year, and it is incredibly cold in Arendelle."

"My apologies, but I cannot answer for the weather." Elsa clenched her fist, glancing behind her only to find that Ariel had already slipped away. _Traitor_.

"You must forgive my wife her moments of rudeness. She is quite tired, and the sea does not agree with her in the slightest," said King Charming. "In turn, we shall forgive you for not meeting us at the docks, as is custom. Of course, it is to be expected given the nature of things."

"The nature of things?" Kristoff repeated, coming to stand beside her, which Elsa was duly grateful for.

"Oh, pay my rambling no mind," said Charming. "It is just that it must be ever so exhausting running a kingdom, being a queen without a king and all that."

At that, the party made their way through, ushered into the dining room by the servants whilst their bags were being carried upstairs to the quarters Elsa had set aside for them. She wondered if it would be acceptable to have them live in an igloo for the remainder of their stay, or if it would wrong of her to introduce them to Marshmallow. He was still roaming the hills, last she'd heard.

"I really, really hate that man," whispered Kristoff. "Have I said how glad I am Nick isn't marrying into that family?"

"You have, but it should be you who's concerned," said Elsa, nudging her brother-in-law in the ribs. "Their son is of marital age, and he's currently looking for a wife, I'm told. If I were you, I'd tell Bryn to remain with the rock trolls for the next few weeks, unless you want a marriage offer broached for your daughter's hand."

Leaving Kristoff with a horrified expression on his face, she walked into the dining room. The entire council was present, and it would take all she had to not run off to the mountains now that she was in the same room as, not only the Charmings, but Cinderella and Aurora as well.

* * *

Aladdin arrived in Agrabah that evening, tired and troubled. He had scarcely been in Arendelle for two days before word had reached him there had been an incident in the palace and Jafar's lamp had been stolen, and the thought sent shivers running down his spine. It had been over two decades since he and Jasmine had last put down that slimy serpent, and he didn't look forward to another confrontation with the genie in the slightest.

As the carpet landed in the gardens and he climbed off, he ran a hand over it and offered his old friend a tired smile.

"Go on, take a rest. I promise we won't be flying such a distance for the next week at least," he said, and the carpet whipped off, no doubt seeking the cupboard Jasmine had converted into a small bedroom.

He hadn't flown such a distance in such a short span of time since his first flight with Jasmine. Despite the troubles, the memory brought a smile to his face. They had been younger then, the two of them, and in a single night, they had seen the entire world.

"Sultan Aladdin," said Set, the vizier of Agrabah, appearing in the gardens and hurrying over, nearly tripping over his robes. "We did not expect you so soon."

"Carpet nearly unravelled himself to return at such speeds," said Aladdin with a tired smile. "If it's not too late, could you have the kitchen staff prepare lamb today? Now, if you don't mind, I would like to see my son before dealing with the latest emergency."

"At once, your highness. Prince Ali is in his bedroom." Set bowed, and Aladdin rolled his eyes in response. It was one thing to be called by his title, but despite the years, he was still quite uncomfortable with people bowing to him in deference. It was easier when Jasmine was here.

She was good at ruling, having been raised for the role of Sultanah since it had been clear that her father would have no sons to take on his mantle. Aladdin, on the other hand, had been raised on the streets of this very city, and his only friend had been Abu, his late comrade in arms. The difference between them was clear as day. His wife dressed in elegant dresses, whilst he favoured simple clothes of cotton, and were she preferred wine, he liked the dark beer they had sold in the city's taverns. There were other differences, dozens of them, and in another life, it was unlikely that they would have been together.

In this life, though, he would not change a single thing. Other than the minor inconvenience that was his son losing Jafar's lamp. That, he would certainly change if he could. Dealing with this would require pulling an old friend out of retirement, and he hoped that Genie was still up to the task, wherever it was he had currently set up shop.

Making his way to his son's room, he paused at the door and frowned. He could hear soft voices coming from within, and despite knowing he shouldn't, curiosity got the better of him. As he leaned over to press his ear against the keyhole, he felt something purr behind him.

"I missed you too, Rajah," he said, ruffling the tiger's fur. "Now, shush, let's see what's going on."

The tiger looked at him in amusement, knowing him all too well. Settling down at his feet, Rajah closed his eyes. Aladdin knelt down beside the door and began to eavesdrop. It wouldn't hurt, after all, and old habits tended to never die for people like him.

"It must have been awful," a woman's voice said. "Are you sure that you're going to be fine?" Aladdin raised an eyebrow. The voice sounded familiar, but he wasn't quite certain where he had heard it before. Scratching his head, he wondered if he should just come back later. He didn't want to walk in on… well, that.

"I'm a little shaken, to be honest," replied his son. "But I'm better now that you're here."

At this, Aladdin felt the urge to facepalm. Resisting the desire, he whispered, "Did you hear that, Rajah? Please tell me I wasn't like that at his age."

The tiger made a sound that sounded oddly like a laugh, and Aladdin rolled his eyes at the tiger.

"Well, now that I am here, and we've established that you're not in any terrible danger, what do you think we should do?"

"Oh, I can think of a few things."

At this, Aladdin got to his feet, having realized who it was that was visiting his son. It had taken a while to place, but if it was who he thought it was, then he couldn't permit his son to continue. The diplomatic fallout alone… He was quite friendly to Eric and Ariel, but he doubted that friendship was enough to gloss over a deflowered princess.

Knocking on the door, he cleared his throat.

"Ali, you in there?"

"In a minute, Dad!"

There was a frantic scrambling, and when the door opened, his son's cheeks were red, and his vest was hanging off one shoulder. Internally, Aladdin groaned, hoping that his son had just pulled on his pants the wrong way that morning rather than a minute ago.

"I didn't expect you back so soon, Dad," said Ali, looking like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

"I guessed as much," replied Aladdin drily. "Is Princess Aquaria decent, or shall I wait at the door for a few more minutes."

Ali nodded, and Aladdin walked in. Across the room, standing beside the window stood Princess Aquaria of Atlantica. Like her mother and brother, her tail had been replaced with legs, as was the norm for merpeople who walked onto land. She was a pretty young woman, he thought, with her sleek red hair, blue eyes, and slender frame. It was quite lucky he lived in Agrabah, where baring skin was considered normal because he imagined that someone like King Adam would have had a stroke to see a dress so sheer, or the corset made of nothing but seashells.

All things considered, perhaps he should speak to Eric and Ariel about arranging a visit to Atlantica for some of their more annoying peers... a stroke might improve them.

"Sultan Aladdin," she said, inclining her head. "I apologise for coming without permission, but I was quite worried for my… friend, Ali."

"It is always lovely to see you, Princess Aquaria," he replied. "However, I was under the impression that you were left in charge of Atlantica in your mother's absence."

"Sebastian may be ancient, but he runs a tight ship. My mother has more sisters than I know what to do with, and Sir Urchin has been a loyal friend to the family since my mother has been a child. I am quite certain that under their watchful eyes, Atlantica will not come to harm in my absence."

"Dad, don't be cross at her," said Ali, embarrassment still seeping through his words. "I asked her to come."

"I'm not mad, just curious," Aladdin replied, raising an eyebrow. "But, if you would be so kind, Princess Aquaria, I would like a few moments alone with my son."

"Of course, your highness," said Aquaria, making for the door. As she reached, she turned her head and smiled. "There's no need to pretend, Sultan Aladdin. You and Sultana Jasmine would be thrilled to have me as a daughter-in-law."

For once, thoughts of Jafar were forgotten as he cocked his head in his son's direction. Ali looked ready for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. His ears and cheeks were red, and as Aladdin studied him, it became apparent that there were marks running along his chest, not quite hidden by the vest.

Aladdin chuckled, unable to help himself. The vests worn by most of the men in Agrabah left one's chest bare, for the most part, and it was an occupational hazard for anyone with a romantic partner. Another memory entered his mind, one in which Jasmine had left similar marks on him.

"Daughter-in-law?" he asked, unable to resist a smirk. "Is there something you would like to tell your mother and I, Ali?"

* * *

It had been quite difficult to find a table in Arendelle that could accommodate every member of the council, but Elsa had managed. She had chosen the upper ballroom as the best room for the meeting. Not only was it impossible to eavesdrop on this room, the large wall-to-wall windows brightened the room significantly. Dark things would be discussed here today, and it was best that there was as much light as possible.

Clinking a fork against her glass for silence, she rose to her feet and cleared her throat.

"Before we commence, I regret to inform you that we have received apologies from both Fa Mulan and Queen Merida. Neither can attend due to extenuating circumstances. As we all know, the emperor of the Imperium is on his deathbed, and Fa Mulan is his most trusted agent. She cannot leave the castle at such a time. Queen Merida, on the other hand, is currently on a hunt. Apparently, there have been dragon hunters troubling their lands, and she has left with her husband to deal with the issue."

"Well, that can't be helped," said Eric, steepling his fingers. "Still, the majority of us are present, and it is best we get on with it."

"Very well," said Elsa. "As we are all aware, the last time we gathered, it was due to the Fall of Oloria. It was thought, back then, that the last of the Hollow Ones had been dealt with."

"No, it was suspected that they were dealt with, and some of us did have doubts," interjected Adam. "Was it not you and Rapunzel who assured us that the situation had been rectified?"

"A great many of us believed that they were gone." Belle's voice was hard. "It cost me two petals of the Chronorose to ensure that the city had been properly purged."

"Well, clearly it was not properly purged," scoffed Cinderella. "If it were, then Henry and I would not have been waylaid on the way here." Rising to her feet, she drew up her sleeve, exposing several bandages.

Elsa frowned. She had not been made aware of this turn of events, and by the expressions of the rest of the room, neither had they.

"You did not think to mention this upon your arrival?" asked Rapunzel, looking as though she wanted to shake her head in disdain. "It would have been for the best that we were aware that they've grown bold enough to trouble a king's carriage."

"It was a small matter, easily dealt with," said Henry, patting his wife on the back. "She tends to get rather excited about these things."

"I would not call it getting excited to be tense about injuries of such a nature," said Snow, turning up her nose. "That looks positively ghastly."

"If we are being honest, it's little more than scratches," Jasmine's voice was like a whip. "Most of us have been scarred by worse. Now, to a matter of actual importance. I was waiting to bring this to the castle's attention until Aladdin sent me confirmation, but I received just that this morning. I am afraid that, a few days ago, Jafar's lamp was stolen from Agrabah."

At once, the room erupted into turmoil, and Elsa rubbed at her temples. For all the good they did, it was often hard to remember just why this was what often happened when they were all in the same room. The petty disputes and tensions often came to a head, as could be evidenced around the room, and it typically took them a few days before anything could be decided.

Across the room, Belle and Cinderella were having it out, their voices rising higher by the second. It was only a matter of time before all the dogs in Arendelle began to howl in pain. Eugene was on his feet, gesturing wildly as he argued with Adam, and even Ariel had joined in on the fray, currently caught in a tense debate with Snow.

A jolt ran through Elsa, and she rose to her feet in an instant. Something… two somethings, in fact, had just tripped the wards, and as she turned to look out the window, she could see two large shapes approaching the castle. They grew larger by the second, rapidly approaching.

Without a word, she raised her hands, and the windows—made from ice, of course—dissolved. That caught the room's attention, and the silence was deafening as she made her way out onto the balcony. Dragons, she realized, but they had no riders. Besides, had it been Hiccup and Merida, Toothless would be there, and she would recognise the black dragon anywhere.

"Could it be Master Mushu?" asked Cinderella, her voice straining. "Perhaps Fa Mulan sent him in her stead."

"Mushu is red," said Eric, drawing his sword. "That, on the other hand—"

"Her!" Philip proclaimed, his sword in hand as he charged to the front of the crowd. "How dare she show her face here."

Elsa drowned them out, focusing solely on her magic. The wind around the castle grew to a gale, and she watched as the dragons were nearly thrown off course. Shards of ice descended from the sky, aimed at their wings, but gusts of fire began to spurt from the beasts' mouth, shielding them from her ire.

Then, Ariel was at her side, clutching her trident and taking aim, the tips gleaming gold. A bolt of energy ripped through the sky as she fired, and the larger dragon spun in midair, letting out a deafening roar of rage.

"I was against this meeting from the start," whined Snow, backing into the room as the dragons circled the castle, weaving in-between the parapets. "It figures that the security of Arendelle would be so lax."

"Keep talking and I'll toss you off the balcony," retorted Anna.

Elsa forced their voices out of her head as she slashed her arms through the air, gathering her frost about her castle's towers. Giant icicles erupted from the stone, nearly spearing the dragons, and then, she was thrown back by an alien force. Kristoff grabbed her before she fell, and she gasped.

The dragon descended, smoke whirling around it, and as it reached the balcony, a tall woman stepped forth. Clad in black from head-to-toe and wearing a large, horned headpiece, the woman raised an eyebrow. Behind her stood a young man, little older than Nick, looking thoroughly bored.

"Maleficent," shouted Aurora. "How dar—"

"Would the lot of you put away those swords before you stab someone's eye out, and if you would be so kind, Queen Arnádalr, to call off your blizzard?" Her lips curled into a menacing smile. "We come in peace."

Behind her, the young man rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. A small white flag appeared in his hand, and with the air of someone who was entirely bored with the entire affair, he half-heartedly waved it at the council of royals.


	5. The Son of Maleficent

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 **The Son of Maleficent**

* * *

Morgan was bored.

The entire trip to Arendelle had been his mother's idea, and if he was to be perfectly honest, he had been looking forward to the trip. Where he was from, it rarely snowed, and he'd been quite taken with the idea of building a snowman and, perhaps, going skiing. Of course, he'd imagined a small cottage in some isolated corner of the country, but it would appear that his mother had not been entirely honest with him.

Within the past few hours, many things he was not comfortable had happened. First, he had very nearly been thrown from the sky by a blizzard, and he was pretty sure that a few of those damned icicles had bit into his wings. Then, as he'd been trying to make a landing, the towers of Arendelle had attempted to stab him with giant lances of ice. If that was not bad enough, one of the queens had been trying to shoot him down with a trident of all things.

Truth be told, this entire endeavour was far too much for Morgan, but what he was currently being subjected to was far worse. Hell, for him, was other people, especially people who seemed rather nice and wanted to get to know him. He didn't like that, not at all, and he was glad that whatever the man—what was his name? Kristoff—had said to the three teenagers standing in front of him had made them share a wary look amongst themselves.

It was for the best, really. Something told him these people wouldn't leave him alone if he blew a gust of fire in their general direction. They had been standing in silence for twenty minutes now, staring at him, and he wished his mother would do whatever it was that she had come to do so that they could leave. Well, at least the assembled kings had put their swords away once his mother and he had transformed back into their human forms. That much steel pointed in his direction made him uncomfortable, especially given that the blades had been held by men who knew how to put them to use.

"Right," he said finally, growing bored with the silence. "I'm Morgan Thorn. I'm sure you've heard of my mother, Maleficent. I assure you, we haven't just come here after massacring an entire village. And, yes, she's made me promise not to eat any of you."

At this, the one of the left—somewhat tall, white hair, blue eyes… dimples—snorted, his guarded expression slipping for a moment. It looked as though he was fighting back the urge to laugh. The redhead beside him smiled, though Morgan was not sure whether it was forced or not, and then there was the blond, who was still chuckling into his sleeve.

Well, thought Morgan, it was a start, at least. He had no idea how long he'd have to spend in this frozen wasteland, and it would be best that he didn't spend it completely bored out of his skull.

The last bit of his introductory speech had been a lie, of course, but it never hurt to make a good threat when making someone's acquaintance. It was the best way to make sure people didn't get too friendly with him, and it was even better for him to be upfront about who he was. That kept feelings—mostly his own—from getting hurt when things eventually went south, as they always tended to go.

"I don't think it's funny to joke about such things," said a cool, shrill voice from somewhere behind him, and he closed his eyes. _Oh, why was she here?_

Turning away from the trio in front of him, all of whom were still staring as if he was going to sprout a tail and grow wings—which he didn't blame them for, given his arrival—and watched the simpering princess make her way across the room. Blonde, thin, and every bit as vile as her mother, Princess Aurelia had despised him since she was old enough to realize who he was. Of course, it would be more appropriate for her to hate his mother, given that it had been her who'd enchanted that sewing needle in the first place, but he supposed that he made a more reachable punching bag than the literal Queen of Darkness.

"Princess Aurelia," he said, forcing a smile to his lips. "It was actually quite funny, I assure you, but I have neither the time nor the crayons required to explain it to you."

"What are you, twelve?" Aurelia sneered. At her side, a second princess—this one had the Charming look about her— sniggered, obviously under the impression that the comment was the most intelligent thing she had ever heard. Well, given who it was, Morgan reasoned, it probably was.

"Why, yes I am," he replied with a smirk. "On a scale from one to ten, of course."

She opened her mouth to reply, when another voice interrupted her. Turning, Morgan saw that it was the blond who'd openly laughed at his joke.

"C'mon, Aurelia," said the blond, rolling his eyes. "Lay off the poor dude. He doesn't seem that bad."

"He's the son of Maleficent," she retorted, clenching her fists.

Morgan raised his eyebrow, not liking where this conversation was going. Knowing Aurelia, she would put her foot in her mouth in no time at all, and it would do him no good for her to reveal the truth. He let his thoughts slip into her mind, smirking as she froze.

" _Best not to say too much, Aurelia, love. I have nothing to lose, and you have your entire world."_

She glared at him before grasping the Charming girl by the wrist and storming off in the direction she had come. Well, thought Morgan, that had been somewhat interesting. He had not expected to run into her of all people, but he supposed it made sense that the royals had brought their children with them. His own mother, though not a queen, had refused to let him stay home alone, pointing out that she'd likely return to their home in ashes.

"Pay her no mind, Morgan, she's always like that," said the blond. "I'm Cornelius, by the way." Though he still looked wary, he extended a hand, which Morgan awkwardly accepted. He was not used to shaking hands, to be honest. Growing up, his mother and he had been constantly on the move to avoid her enemies, and when one was as good at goodbyes as he was, meeting new people was not something he relished.

"I'm Alyssa Rose," said the girl beside him, flashing him a smile. "It's all right. I once almost ate someone as well."

Not quite sure how to respond to that, Morgan turned to the last of the trio, the one with the dimples, and felt a faint smile curl across his lips. Well, this wasn't going as badly as he'd anticipated. He'd expected to have been driven into a corner by now, a dozen swords and spears aimed in his direction.

"Nicholas Frost," said the teenager, offering him a hand. "And, while you're in my castle, perhaps you could refrain from eating people? The paperwork would be a nightmare for Mother, and she does have enough on her plate as it is."

Morgan grinned as he accepted the handshake. This wasn't so bad at all.

* * *

"How do we know that we can trust you?" asked King Florian, steepling his fingers as he studied her.

"Have you not been listening to a word I've said?" she asked, rolling her eyes at the man. It was a good thing he was attractive, she thought, because there certainly wasn't anything charming about his brains. "I've just told you exactly how I know Rothbart, and I distinctly mentioned that I am here because I value my son's safety."

"We heard you, but I am sure you can forgive us our skepticism," said Sultanah Jasmine. "You mentioned that you believed joining Rothbart would endanger your son, but surely even you must know that it is not in the nature of this council to harm children."

"Yes, and I am sure Regina's sons take comfort in that fact, despite the cold confines of their graves," Maleficent retorted, not caring for the guilty looks exchanged by several members of the council. "I can speak until I'm blue in the face, and you still will not believe me." She rolled her eyes at their ineptitude. "Summon her, why don't you? You are all royals, are you not? I offer myself to the Godmother's judgement."

Muttering broke out across the room, and Queen Aurora sneered in her direction. Mal smiled in response, wondering if it would be considered rude to mention she had recently taken up stitching in order to pass the time. She did love sewing needles, after all.

"Is that your plan?" King Philip's voice was cold. "Do you truly think we would be so foolish as to summon the Godmother so that you may try to murder her?"

"Me? Kill the Godmother?" Maleficent chuckled. It was a good thing that she had not cursed the man with stupidity. He was just as she remembered, a man with no more than two brain cells crawling through his empty skull, desperately searching for each other. "You flatter me. Even I am not so vain as to think I can destroy her, much as I would have liked to, once upon a time."

"She's right," said Queen Rapunzel, swallowing. "In such matters, it would be best to summon the Godmother. Maleficent poses no threat to her, and it will help us get to the bottom of the situation."

"Besides," added King Adam, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Should the witch try anything, we have her son."

Flames flickered from Maleficent's lips as she turned her head to glare at the man. Her knuckles turned white around her staff, and it took everything she had to not fly across the table at once. A threat against her own person was of little consequence, but a threat against Morgan… No, that she would not stand for.

"Only a beast would threaten a child," she said, raising an eyebrow, and she could feel the green flames burning in her eyes.

"It takes one to know one," snipped Aurora. "I was a child as well, or have you forgotten why we are so loath to trust the likes of you?"

"You were in no danger." Maleficent scoffed. "All I did was give you a nice nap. Heaven knows you need all the beauty sleep you can get."

Her rage not forgotten, she rose to her feet. The Queens, Elsa and Ariel, tensed, looking ready to challenge her, and she breathed a weary sigh. This was not going as she had intended, not in the slightest.

"Either summon the Godmother so that she can tell the lot of you that I am being honest in my intentions, or give me your leave to get my son and go. And, if you choose the latter, do not even try to stop me, for it is more dangerous than you know to stand between a dragon and her child."

"Very well, then," said Elsa, reaching out her hands. With her left, she clasped the hand of her sister, Anna, and with her right, she held Ariel. "We will summon the Godmother."

"Are you certain, Elsa?" said Belle. "Surely the threat is not so dire that we require the assistance of Maleficent, of all people?"

"Do any of you remember the battle of Oloria? Our vanguard was decimated, and the losses sustained by the bulk of our armies was larger than any war we have fought in recent memory. And, how many Hollow Ones were there?"

"Not many," murmured Ariel. "Less than a thousand of the creatures, but the cost to put them down was felt by each and every one of your kingdoms."

"That was but a taste of their power," said Maleficent, thinking it best to drop the bomb now that things seemed to be going her way. "Rothbart was an experiment… a means of testing their power. There are thousands more, hundreds of thousands, and unless we stop them, they will wash across this world like a swarm of locusts."

The room fell silent, and Maleficent was aware of every eye upon her. Then, Belle accepted Ariel's hand, and Cinderella extended an arm to Henry, and soon enough, the entire council had linked hands. Their eyes were shut, and she took a step back. The Fairy Godmother was an old acquaintance… and an even older enemy.

Light flickered from the hands of a dozen royals, and the room thrummed with power. There was a bright flash of light, and when it faded, there was a woman sitting at the head of the table: The Fairy Godmother

Her grey hair had been pulled into a high bun, and there were jewels lining the wings of her glasses. She wore a fur-trimmed red dress which shimmered as if sewn from a thousand rubies, and a cigar bobbed between lips stained red as blood. Holding a tall glass of wine, the Fairy Godmother raised an eyebrow.

"Right then, are the lot of you going to stare at me, or is someone going to give me the reason you've disturbed my vacation?"

Maleficent couldn't help herself. She snorted, masking the sound with her sleeve, and closed her eyes in amusement. It was clear that several members of the council had never had the pleasure of meeting the old broad, but that was about to change. The Godmother was not a shy woman, and if memory served, she was even less patient.

"You aren't the Godmother," declared Cinderella, getting to her feet in alarm.

"Heavens, Cinders, I don't go around singing Bibbidi, Bobbidi, Boo to every sad little girl in the world. I have people who do that for me," said the Godmother. "The fairy who visited you was _a_ Godmother; I am _the_ Godmother. The difference is in the preposition. You read, don't you, Belle? Would you explain it to the poor dear?"

Cinderella gaped like a fish before being helped back to her seat by Henry, who looked rather embarrassed on his wife's behalf. Maleficent would have felt sorry for the poor man, but… well, he had been foolish enough to choose his future wife and the future queen of his country by the size of her feet, so it wasn't like he was much more intelligent than Philip.

"Perhaps that can wait," said Elsa, offering the Godmother a warm smile. "Godmother, we have summoned you for your assistance in a rather serious matter."

"Ah, yes, well," the Godmother began, glancing in her direction. "I'm not quite sure why something like that warrants a meeting of the council, but rest assured that your son will turn out just fine."

Elsa blinked, looking gobsmacked, and appeared ready to press the matter further when Maleficent cleared her throat. Taking a few steps forward, she steeled herself as she felt the Godmother's steely gaze upon her, studying her from horn to heel.

"Well, this is a surprise," said the Godmother, taking a deep drag of her cigar. Smoke billowed out her nostrils, and she blew the rest into King Eric's face. "I must admit, I had my doubts that you'd do the right thing."

"Then you can confirm to these people that I am here to do the right thing?" Maleficent asked, pleasantly surprised that there had been no argument or judgement. The last time they had met, it had been after she'd cursed Aurora, and the ensuing fight between them had robbed her off her wings forevermore.

"Was there any doubt?" asked the Godmother. "Truly, Maleficent, I believe that you are perhaps one of the worst people I have ever met, but I do believe that you love your son, disappointing though his father may be. I also believe that when the chips are down, you are capable of doing the right thing."

"Why, Godmother, I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she replied, nodding.

"Don't get used to it, my dear." The Godmother drew a wand from her sleeve. "I trust that is all?" She asked, looking around the room. When nobody spoke, she nodded. "Well, then, I think you should all be very disappointed in yourselves for disturbing poker night. I shall have to count the chips as soon as I get back. The Man in the Moon is a terrible cheat, you know, and don't even get me started on Pan."

Flicking her wand, she disappeared in a sparkling puff of dust, and Maleficent smiled at the assembled royals. Settling down in the seat the Godmother had just vacated, she adjusted her horned headpiece and raised an eyebrow.

"Shall we continue?" she asked.

* * *

Despite the unexpected and somewhat unwanted arrival of Morgan, whom Uncle Kristoff had insisted they keep an eye on whilst matters were discussed Maleficent, Nick found that he didn't want to postpone his annual duel with his cousin. Since he had been twelve and Cornelius had been thirteen, they had sparred once a year, and whilst the official reason was that it was good to keep their skills on point, the actual reason was much simpler.

They were cousins and, as much as they loved each other, they did enjoy being able to one-up the other from time to time.

"I must warn you, Morgan," said Alyssa, a glimmer in her eyes. "These two are somewhat hard to watch."

"I take offense to that." Cornelius raised an eyebrow, turning to glare at his girlfriend in mock annoyance. "We simply add a bit of life to the festivities."

"Just the other day, I watched my mother devour an elephant and set an entire town on fire," said Morgan, his face deathly serious. "I am quite certain that whatever happens here will pale in comparison."

Nick whirled around, and his expression must have been the same as the ones worn by Cornelius and Alyssa, because Morgan took a step back before raising his hands and offering them a weak chuckle. "I'm kidding, I swear."

Nick frowned at the nervous look on Morgan's face before nodding, and as he turned back around, Cornelius fell into step beside him. Alyssa remained back, keeping a watchful eye on their… guest, and despite the thick cloak she wore, Nick knew that her hand rested upon the hilt of her rapier.

"So, what do you think of him?" whispered Cornelius, his voice so low that Nick had to strain to hear him.

"Can't really say," replied Nick. "I don't know, to be honest. Mother wouldn't have let him stay if she thought he was a danger to us."

"What about his mother, though? Maleficent? I'm sure you've heard of her, Nick," Cornelius pressed. "Powerful sorceress, nearly destroyed Somnia, cursed Queen Aurora, turns into a dragon?"

"Actually," said Morgan, "Mother never intended to destroy Somnia. It was King Stefan's fault for not inviting her to his daughter's christening."

Nick turned, raising an eyebrow, though he wasn't quite sure whether he was amused or irritated. At his side, Cornelius turned as well, glaring.

"Not that I condone cursing infants, of course," added Morgan quickly. "It's just that you have to remember that Mother has fairy blood in her. Not inviting her to the christening to bless the new princess, yet inviting each and every one of her peers, was an insult as grave as if I spat on one of your parents whilst they were sitting on their thrones."

"While there is little doubt in my mind that if anyone deserved to be cursed, it was Queen Aurora," said Alyssa, her tone diplomatic. "I do think the issue the boys are having is that she was still a baby, and as you said, it was her parents who had wronged your mother."

"Well, like I said, I'm not going around cursing babies, am I?" Morgan shrugged. "Look, I'm fine with us not becoming bosom buddies during my brief stay in this frozen—"

Nick narrowed his eyes, and Morgan seemed to take the message.

"Castle, I was going to say castle," he continued. "I would appreciate it if you discussed my nefarious villainy after I've left."

"Nobody asked you to eavesdrop." Cornelius pursed his lips, and his tone was blunt. "Besides, if you're going to be hanging out with us during your _brief stay_ , don't you think we should figure out if we can trust you not to murder us while we're asleep."

"Cornelius," hissed Nick, grasping his cousin's wrist in warning. Whilst he may be in mild agreement with Cornelius' sentiment, this was also his castle, and whether he liked it or not, Morgan was a guest. Really, there was no need for hostility. Even if his friends had not noticed, Nick was quite aware that the guards had more than doubled since Uncle Kristoff had introduced them to Morgan. Nor did it slip his mind that if Morgan made even the slightest move against them, a single snap of Nick's fingers would bring the entire might of Arendelle crashing through the doors.

They were perfectly safe, despite their present company. Besides, it didn't seem as if the son of Maleficent was that bad. Rough around the edges, certainly, and his sense of humour wasn't the best, but when Nick studied him, he saw something oddly familiar.

Loneliness.

"Look, I get it." Morgan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "All I'm asking is that you not gossip about me where I can hear. I doubt you'd like it if I talked shit about your mothers."

There was silence for a few moments, and Cornelius nodded. Alyssa swallowed, and glanced at Nick for confirmation, but Nick simply cocked his head to the side as he studied the newest, temporary, addition to their little band.

"I think we can manage that," he said, forcing a small smile to his lips. "It's not cool to be judged for something you can't help, is it, Alyssa?"

Slowly, she nodded, and Morgan returned his smile before the four of them continued in silence to the empty ballroom. The tension was still thick in the air, but Nick hoped it would fade during their duel. He refused to let anything dampen the fun, not when it came too one of the few things he looked forward to each year. After all, he didn't allow his own problems to detract from his duels with Cornelius, so why should he let someone's else's?

Within minutes, they had arrived. Throwing open the doors, Nick ushered them in. The tables had been pushed up against the walls, the chairs stacked and frozen in place, and the many paintings had been taken down.

"How does the competition go, again?" asked Alyssa, her voice wary as she broke the silence, "It's been a while since I've seen the two of you go at it."

"First, there's archery," said Nick, smiling as he remembered. Glancing at his cousin, he raised an eyebrow, dimly aware of Morgan slipping off to a corner of the room. He dismissed it. For now, all that mattered was the duel. They were two to one in Cornelius' favour, but this was the year that Nick evened the score.

"Good," said Cornelius, a smug grin plastered on his face. "I win."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Then, there's magic, of course." Snapping his finger, he cupped a snowball in his palm. Tossing it into the air a few times for emphasis, he flung it aside with a smirk.

"You win."

"So, now we're tied." Extending an arm, Nick grinned as frost poured from his fingers. Delicate spirals of blue extended from four feet ahead of him before solidifying into a familiar sword of ice. Gripping the pommel, he pointed it at his cousin. "So, we duel."

"Indeed, frigid Lord of the North," said Cornelius, drawing his own sword. The blade was metal, the hilt was gold, and the pommel was crowned with a sunburst. From each end of the crossguard, roses forged from gold-plated steel swirled around the prince's fingers, protecting them from harm.

"Ah, but it is you who shall fall, Lord of the South," declared Nick. "Come, rapscallion. My blade thirsts." With that he lunged, almost catching his cousin off guard. Ice shrieked against steel as their blades met in a deadly dance, flashing in the brightly lit room as they duelled. At first, the upper hand was his, and he drove Cornelius back several paces.

"Mine is thirstier, dastardly knave," yelled Cornelius, redoubling his efforts. "Now, fear the wrath of the sun." Nick grinned as he brought up his blade to block his cousin's swing, and with his free hand, he fashioned a dagger the length of his palm. Without hesitation, he slashed low, and Cornelius swore before leaping out of the way.

"What treachery!" Cornelius's eyes sparkled with glee. Extending a hand, a pulse of sunlight burst forth, and Nick was forced to shield his eyes. As the glare dimmed, he backed away, the room still hazy as he tried to recover his vision. A rush of air was all the signal he needed and, with a cry, he leapt back, flinging out a wave of frost from the tip of his sword.

"The light shall not protect you," he yelled, and he dashed forward at the same time as his cousin. Two swords flashed through the air as Cornelius swung high, light glimmering along his blade, and Nick dropped to his knees, skidding forward on a sheet of ice. As they passed each other, he heard his cousin's yell of triumph.

"First blood." Cornelius whooped, raising a hand. In his fingers, he clutched a few strands of white hair, and Nick rolled his eyes, feeling at his head to make sure that the strands wouldn't be missed. In the corner of the room, Alyssa was howling with laughter, and the new dude, Morgan, had cracked a grin.

"Yet, I think you'll find that I win," he replied, gesturing at Cornelius' pants, which had fallen to the prince's ankles, exposing both a pair of green boxers—which were covered in smiley-faced suns— and pale legs to the room. Cornelius' belt had been cut and, with a grin, Nick raised his dagger and winked.

Cornelius' face crumpled. "No fair," he whined, hurriedly dropping the strands of hair and yanking his pants back up to his waist. His cheeks blazing red, he sheathed his sword and looked around the room, no doubt to make sure that nobody else had wandered in during their duel.

"You went for the hair, Cor," said Nick, still grinning, feeling lighter than he had in days. "Never go for the hair."

* * *

That night, Nick couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, watching the moon as it steadily climbed to the roof off the sky, but no matter how firmly he closed his eyes, or how many sheep he counted, sleep simply would not take him. There was too much on his mind.

Since Alyssa had discovered his secrets, he'd felt as though he was walking on eggshells. On the surface, nothing appeared to have changed between them, but he'd noticed little things here and there. Her hugs were tighter, her smiles more frequent and reassuring, and whenever she slipped off with Cornelius, terror would grip Nick's heart. Deep down, he knew she would never tell another person what he had revealed in that alley, but that did little to take away his nerves.

Then, there was the dragon who had taken up residence in his castle. Two of them, to be honest, but it was Maleficent who had him on edge. His mother had assured him that she meant them no harm, and the sorceress went nowhere without an armed escort, but it did not change the fact that she was currently asleep just three floors above him. He had grown up hearing the stories, and he knew that no matter what Morgan said about her, she was a villain through and through.

Speaking of Morgan, Nick didn't know exactly what to think of the other teen. His heart seemed to be in the right place for the most part, though his sense of humour could certainly use some improvement. He was sarcastic at times, and his grins never quite reached his eyes. At any rate, Nick at least knew that Morgan had feelings, which made him rather different than the villains in the stories.

Nick sighed. Trying to puzzle out everything that was bothering him was exhausting, and yet, sleep still remained a stranger. There was a spirit, a friend of his father's, who gave people sweet dreams and ensured they slept through the night… and it was not the first night that Nick wondered if the Sandman was avoiding him on purpose.

Finally, he climbed out of bed, slipped on a shirt and grasped his staff before heading for the door. Perhaps a walk through the castle would soothe his nerves, and if that failed, he could wear himself out in the gardens. They would be empty at this hour, and there'd be nobody to see him whack at one of the trees until it shattered into a hundred pieces of frozen bark and wilted leaves.

"Prince Nicholas, is something the matter?" a cool voice asked, and he started. Turning, he saw one of the castle guards leaning against a wall at the end of the corridor, a halberd at his side. He sighed again. His mother would hear about his night-time wandering, no doubt, but there was no helping it.

"Can't sleep, Johan," he replied. "I'm going for a walk."

The guard nodded, and Nick continued on his way. Despite the frigid bite of winter, the floor was warm against his bare feet. At least that was always a constant, he thought, realizing he had not bothered to button his shirt. The temperature could fall below zero, and he wouldn't feel so much as a nip in the air. It was fine. The cold had never bothered him anyway.

Pausing to do up the lower buttons of his shirt, he leaned against a balustrade. The castle was silent, save for the clink of guards going about their nightly patrols, and the soft snores echoing from the many guest bedrooms lining the corridor. It had been a long time since the castle of Arendelle had been so filled with people, and yet, Nick had never felt quite so alone.

More than ever, he missed his father. No matter the issue, no matter the problem, his father would listen without judging, and there was never advice after. Instead, there was simply encouragement and understanding. Had his father been here tonight, Nick knew that his aimless wandering would have a destination.

The sound of raised voices stirred him from his thoughts and he stood up straight, drying him damp eyes with the back of his sleeve. Walking around the corner, he found himself looking at Morgan, who at that moment was surrounded by three guards, all of whom had their hands on their swords. Nick paused, slipping into the shadows. It seemed as though they hadn't yet noticed him.

"And, where do you think you're going?" asked the tallest guard, and Nick could not quite recognise him under the helmet.

"I was looking for a bathroom," replied Morgan, and Nick raised an eyebrow. That was an odd excuse, all things considered.

"Indeed. And I'm the King of Arendelle," the leftmost guard chortled.

His hand moved, and in the dim torchlight, Nick saw the flash of steel as he raised his sword an inch out of its scabbard. Morgan's face, on the other hand, was impassive, but Nick did not miss the brief flicker of fear in the teen's eyes.

"My mother would be interested to hear that, Jorge," said Nick, stepping out of the shadows. "Truth be told, I would be quite interested to hear what makes you the king."

"Prince Nicholas," said Jorge. "Pardon my impertinence. It was a joke, nothing more."

"A joke that was made in incredibly poor taste," said the rightmost guard, his eyes flickering from Nick to the staff in the prince's hand. "We will just be returning this one to his room before going back to our posts."

"Return to your posts at once and my mother will never hear of this," replied Nick. "Now, if you please. I'll escort our guest back to his quarters."

They nodded, tripping over each other as they bowed low and scurried off. Morgan stood there, shivering slightly, and flashed him a wan smile.

"Thanks for the rescue, Nicholas," said Morgan, before running a hand through his hair. "Errr… Prince Nicholas, I mean. Please don't have me beheaded."

"I'll consider it," he replied, turning around and gesturing for Morgan to follow. "And, for the record, every one of our guest bedrooms have attached bathrooms."

"Yeah, I know." Morgan's voice was guarded. "I couldn't sleep."

"Either way, I must apologize for my guard's behaviour. I promise that they are not usually so rude to guests." That much was true. Queen Elsa would be horrified if she heard that one of her guests had been waylaid in such a manner, even if the guest happened to be one of the more unorthodox individuals to ever grace their castle.

"It's all right. I'm rather used to people threatening me. Your guards were not the worst I've had to deal with in my life, honestly. What are you doing up anyway? Not that I don't appreciate the rescue, but, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"To be perfectly honest, I couldn't sleep either."

"Got a lot on your mind, huh?"

"I did not ask what's keeping you up, did I?" Nick's voice was firm. As much as he was playing the part of a polite host, he still knew exactly who this was. A stranger. If he was not comfortable speaking to Cornelius about the things which weighed on him, then he certainly wasn't going to spill his heart to a person he had met that morning.

"Sorry," muttered Morgan. "I didn't think."

"It's fine."

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Nick came to a halt and gestured at the door in front of him. At the end of the corridor, two guards stood vigil with their swords bared, keeping a firm eye on Morgan, and Nick frowned at the way the other teen shivered.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

Morgan swallowed before running a hand through his hair. Glancing at his room and then at the guards, he sighed before reaching out for the door handle.

"I didn't press the issue when you didn't want to talk about what's keeping you up, did I?" he said, and he slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. For a moment, Nick considered the answer before nodding, and he began the short trek back to his room.

As he passed the guards, they bowed, and Nick paused. His gaze flickering over their swords, a thought entered his head. "You can sheathe your blades, you know," he said, as he continued on his way. "If one of them does go berserk, I doubt a sword is going to stop a dragon."

When he looked back, the swords had been put away, and Nick smiled before stifling a yawn.


	6. Mad

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 **Mad**

* * *

Once again, Morgan was bored.

Things had been better this morning, at the very least. For one, there was only a single guard tailing him as he made his way around the castle, and, of course, there was the snowman that Queen Elsa had assigned to be his guide. Somewhat adorable though Olaf was, Morgan couldn't deny that the incessant chattering was starting to grate on his nerves, and he'd had to stop himself from kicking the snowman's head off his body a fair few times already.

Things might not have been as bad had Nicholas, Cornelius, and Alyssa been around, but the three of them had all deserted him as soon as breakfast was done. Not that he had expected anything different, to be honest. Well, at least Nicholas had an excuse. As the crown prince of Arendelle, he was off attending to some of his mother's duties regarding an upcoming festival of some sort whilst Queen Elsa was occupied with the rest of the council. The other two… they didn't have a good excuse. What had it been? She had wanted to polish her jewellery, and Cornelius had rushed off to help her.

Morgan scoffed. They were probably fucking, if he was being honest with himself, and that was a slightly more acceptable reason. No doubt they'd prefer spending time with each other than with him, especially since the only person who'd warmed to him, if only a little, was Nicholas.

He'd gone for a walk again last night, hoping to run into the prince, but he'd met only disappointment. Clearly, whatever had been keeping Nicholas awake wasn't troubling him anymore, and Morgan didn't like the bit of envy he felt at that idea. He hadn't had a good night's sleep since coming to Arendelle. There were too many guards in the castle, too many weapons always ready to be pointed in his direction, and far too many people who stared at him with disdain in their eyes.

"And this is Lady Ingrid," rambled Olaf, pointing at a portrait of a regal woman clad all in white. "She was Queen Iduna's older sister, and she was quite bonkers. Queen Elsa locked her away in a casket years and years ago."

"A casket?" drawled Morgan. "What did it look like?"

"Oh, it was big and white and shiny," replied Olaf. "She was…"

Leaving Olaf to his excited ramblings, Morgan walked towards the next portrait on the wall. He knew the person in this one, for the most part. Even as far away as Somnia, people had heard of Queen Freya, great-grandmother of the current Queen of Arendelle, and how the biting winter she had commanded had turned the country into a frozen nightmare. He frowned. Even the thoughts of a mad and tyrannical queen were not enough to pull him out of his boredom.

"Olaf," a voice called, and Morgan took a few steps back, looking up. From where he stood in the gallery, he could see Princess Anna leaning against the railing running along the end of the landing three floors above. "Olaf, have you seen Kris—"

Many things happened at once. First, Olaf waddled over to Morgan's side, looking up at Princess Anna with a wide grin, waving his arm. Second, a loud crack echoed through the palace. Third, Olaf gasped in alarm, and Princess Anna screamed as the railing gave way. Finally, she fell.

Without thinking, Morgan lashed out, his magic bursting from his hands. Swirls of green light whipped through the air, suspending the princess in mid-fall, one foot still on the landing and the rest of her hanging over nothing but empty air. He grimaced, already feeling the strain of keeping the spell in place. Unlike his mother, he was not gifted in the magical arts and even the act of lighting a few candles would leave him drained.

"Can you get back up," he called, his voice breaking as he looked up at the princess. If she could just reach the railing above her and pull herself up before his spell broke, it would be fine. If she couldn't… Morgan wasn't sure how much longer he'd last before passing out.

Terror filling her eyes, she reached behind her, fingers straining for the railing. A few seconds later, she shook her head. Morgan closed his eyes, biting his lip in frustration. Where was that guard that was supposed to be watching him? Had he wandered off or something? Then, he remembered the snowman at his feet, who up until this point had just been staring with his mouth agape.

"Olaf," he grunted. "Get help. Quickly."

The snowman rushed off, and Morgan swallowed as he slowly tried to exert just a little more force into his spell. His head hurt, his heart thudding in his ears, but Princess Anna moved, rising up just an inch, and he took a deep breath. Just a little more, and she'd be back onto on the landing. If he shoved hard, he could certainly push her back in one swift moment, but he'd be too drained to anything more, and if she missed or couldn't catch herself, she'd fall.

"It's going to be all right," he said, "Olaf's gone to get help."

She nodded again, and Morgan strained, his arms trembling as he focused on the spell. It was weakening, the magic sputtering from his fingers, and there was a sharp pulling sensation in his belly, jerking on his navel with more intensity after every second that passed.

The sound of footsteps alerted him to the people rushing into the room behind him. Looking back, Morgan sighed in relief. Olaf had returned, bringing with him a dozen guardsmen, and Nicholas was in the lead.

"Aunt Anna," he cried. "What are you lot waiting for? You know where the stairs are. Go pull her back up."

"Hurry," groaned Morgan, feeling something thick and wet trickling over his lip. He dared not check what it was. He couldn't let his concentration break, not even for a second.

Nicholas was at his side in an instant. Taking one look at Morgan, the prince turned ashen and glanced back at his aunt just as the swirls of green light began to fray.

"Can you push her back?" he asked, his voice urgent. "Morgan, can you?"

Morgan closed his eyes and nodded. He could do that. Hopefully. Well, he had to, because his spell just had a few seconds left.

"Do it. I'll catch her," said Nicholas.

With a cry, Morgan thrust out his arms, and Princess Anna was jerked back to the landing. She tottered at the edge, her arms spinning in circles as she tried to regain her balance, and Morgan's heart leapt to his chest as she tipped forward.

Then a bolt of frost tore through the air, striking the landing at just the right place. A wall of ice appeared, blocking off the gap where the railing had broken, and Anna grasped it, letting out a shaky sigh of relief as, only then, did the first of the guards burst onto the landing.

 _I did it_ , thought Morgan, as the room spun around him. Throwing out a hand to steady himself against a bookshelf, he grabbed at empty air as he went down, his head hitting the ground with a sharp thud.

* * *

"So, Aquaria, how did you travel from Atlantica to Agrabah so quickly that you arrived before I did, yet left Atlantica after receiving word that Ali was in trouble?" asked Aladdin, his tone mild as he sipped at his water. The thought had been on his mind since he'd first arrived home to find that the princess of Atlantica was living in one of the guest rooms—though until he'd arrived, he had a sneaking suspicion that the guest room Set had assigned her had not been slept in.

Not that any of the staff was willing to confirm his suspicions. His son had been a charmer since birth, and he had most of the castle wrapped around his little finger. Of course, Aladdin could pull rank and force the truth out of one of them, but the very notion of doing so left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Dad, seriously?" asked Ali.

His son had one hand on the table, the other clamped upon his side, and his colour looked a little off. Aladdin frowned. His son had always hated being ill, but the cold he'd come down with last night seemed worse than usual. Then again, Ali hated visiting the court healer as well, so it wasn't as though he'd say anything.

After dinner, Aladdin would have to drag him there. Not that it would be the first time, he thought wearily, but these days, Ali was too old to be slung over his shoulder and carried across the castle.

"I must apologize, Sulta—"

"No, Aquaria, you don't need to apologize. I'm the prince, and I invited you here," Ali interrupted, and Aladdin sighed.

"Son, your mother and I allow you an amount of freedom that most princes would be envious of," he said. "Is it too much to ask that you extend us the courtesy of letting us know you would be entertaining a guest, a foreign princess, whilst we were away?"

Ali had the grace to look ashamed of himself as he busied himself with his plate, and Aladdin turned his attention back to his son's… girlfriend? Fiancé? Lover? To be honest, he wasn't quite sure, though he hoped it was the first, at least for the moment. If they wished to wed, they would do so with his blessing, which he would gladly give, but a bit of warning would be nice.

Love was never simple when it came to royals, especially when it came to heirs. Like it or not, Aquaria was the heir to the Atlantican throne, just as her brother was heir to Aquitania, and any relationships she formed had to be made with her kingdom in mind. It was easier for Ali, he knew, being a crown prince of his own kingdom.

Still, there was much to consider. The thought made Aladdin's head hurt. This was not his area of expertise. It had never been. Jasmine ruled Agrabah and he supported her as best he could, but there was no denying that he was, for the most part, a sultan in name alone.

"I mean no disrespect, Aquaria," said Aladdin, glancing at the princess, "But, surely you understand what ramifications this visit could have for the both of you?"

"Why, Sultan Aladdin, he offered to show me the world." Aquaria smirked as she speared a roast potato on the end of her fork. "How could I turn down such a gracious offer?"

Aladdin spluttered, cheeks heating up as he turned to glare at his son, who sheepishly ran a hand through his hair. In the corner of the room, Rajah let out a sound that was oddly reminiscent of a chuckle, and Aladdin found himself glaring at the old tiger. _Traitor_ , he thought, _you were supposed to be on my side._

"Be that as it may, Agrabah is in no state to receive guests as of present. Until Jafar's lamp has been recovered, it may not be safe for you to remain here. You may scoff, but understand that I have faced down the man before. All the armies of Agrabah could march against him, and all the armies of Agrabah would perish in doing so."

"Dad, I'm sorry, I should have never let my guard down that night," Ali said, his eyes half-closed as he steadied himself against the table. His son took a deep breath. "This is my fault."

"It isn't," said Aladdin. "In fact, I am rather glad that you managed to stay out of the way, truth be told. I can take down an evil wizard. I can't replace a son."

Aladdin brought his goblet to his mouth and his eyes grew wide. His water tasted… thick and coppery, and without considering his manners, he spat it out. Blood sprayed across the table and ran down his chin, and Aquaria let out a yelp of alarm, leaping to her feet. _Godmother_ , he thought, glancing into his cup. It was still half-full, but when he had drank earlier, it had been water.

"The jugs are filled with blood as well," said Ali, rising to his feet, eyes wide. His son stumbled, grasping the end of the table to steady himself, and he swayed on his feet.

"Ali!" Aladdin yelled, thoughts of the blood forgotten as he hopped over the table to grasp his son. As soon as his hands came into contact with his son's skin, his eyes widened. Ali was feverish, his skin burning so hot that it was almost painful to hold onto him. Immediately slipping one arm around his son to hold him up, he looked up.

"Set," he bellowed. _Where was that blasted vizier? Or the maids? If anything, where were any of the staff?_

"You should have told me it was this bad, Ali," he said, helping his son to a chair. "We need to get you to bed."

"Sultan Aladdin." Aquaria's voice was terse. "We have other concerns."

Aladdin looked up, his eyes growing wide as saucers as he stared at the fountains in each corner of the room. Blood poured from the spouts, trickling over the white marble. Turning to look out the window, he froze, and in that moment he was not sure if was him leaning on his son or if his son leaning on him, for the canals of Agrabah gleamed beneath the evening son, rich and dark and red.

* * *

In her lifetime, Maleficent had committed sins beyond count. She had burned cities to the ground and cursed infants in their cribs. The rotting corpses of her enemies littered the road behind her. Her very name brought grown men to their knees and filled their hearts with fear.

And, when counting her crimes, she often wondered when it was that the price for her sins would have to be paid, and who it was that would pay it.

She sat at his bedside, her head resting upon her palm. Her horned headpiece lay on the bedside table, allowing her dark hair to fall down to the small of her back, as she watched him sleep. He was fine though exhausted, and it was not expected that he would wake until the next morning at earliest. Queen Rapunzel had seen to him, tending to the rather large bump on his head, and though her healing was a fraction of what it had been during her youth, it had proved more than sufficient to repair the damage that her son had done to himself.

He was a hero, according to Princess Anna, who had taken to bed for the duration of her pregnancy. The shock of the day was not good for the baby, and it was just for a few more weeks, the healers had said. Those thoughts were the last thing on Maleficent's mind.

All she could think was that tomorrow would be the last time she saw her son for who knew how long. This morning, a decision had finally been reached by the squabbling children, and while the plan was not quite what Maleficent had envisioned, it was better than most of the plots tossed about the room. Not for the first time, she wondered how it was that her kind had been forced into the shadows by the council in the first place. The majority of them were incompetent dunces, and the few with working brains were far too busy keeping the brainless in line.

Still, there had been nowhere else to turn. Too many of her old comrades were not content to let old grudges remain dead and buried, and she could not throw her lot in with them, as much as she would have liked to. She pursed her lips at the truth. There was no denying that she wished to see this world burn, to hear Queen Aurora's mournful cry as she ripped King Philip's heart from his chest, to crush the rest to dust beneath her heel.

And, despite it all, she could not. For Morgan's sake, for the sake of his future and his happiness, she had to fight down her urges and do what the old her would have never considered. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, she sneered.

"Maleficent," a voice said, and she whipped around, her eyes narrowing.

Queen Elsa stood in the doorway, a pensive look upon her face. Without waiting for her reply, the queen walked into the room as if she owned the place—which she did, but that was beside the point—and sat down in a nearby chair.

"If you wish to thank him, you will have to wait for tomorrow," said Maleficent, turning back to her son.

"Actually, it was you that I wished to speak to," said Elsa. "Tomorrow, you will be leaving for Grimhilde Keep. From what I know of Regina, she is a bitter crone whose gardens brim with poisoned apples, and she does little else but plot revenge."

"It's been a few years, but I doubt the death of her sons has improved her constitution in any way," replied Maleficent. "However, she is an old friend, and gaining her trust would be much easier than if I tried seeking out Ursula or Cruella."

"Are you certain, though? The role of a spy is a dangerous one, even for you."

"I know," replied Maleficent, making no word to continue. All that she did, she did for her son. In the end, that was all the reason she needed.

"Then, onto the point of my visit. The world is a dangerous place, and it grows more dangerous by the day with the Hollow Ones prowling the quiet roads. However, Arendelle is far safer than most places that Morgan may wish to take refuge whilst we ride out this storm."

"This offer?" Maleficent raised a hand, her nails flashing as she ran them along her cheek. "Would it have been made if Morgan hadn't saved your sister's life."

"That is something I cannot answer," said Elsa, immediately rising up in Maleficent's book for having the balls it took to be honest. "I would like to think that I would have, but I will never know for certain."

"It is true that he cannot come with me," said Maleficent, feeling a pang in her chest as she brushed the hair out of his eyes. She stilled. Whilst she trusted the majority of the council no further than she could throw them, she knew that Morgan would be in no danger from the Queen of Arendelle or her court.

Indeed, she had thought about little else since the council had first decided on this course of action. Her son's safety was paramount, and as she could not fulfill her role in the events to come and ensure that he was safe at the same time, she needed to leave him in the care of someone who could shelter him from the coming storm.

"Your offer is a gracious one, and I accept."

Elsa nodded and rose to her feet. She paused before doing so, a frown on her face.

"There was an easier path you could have taken to ensure he was safe. I'm not a fool. Your peers wouldn't have harmed a hair on his head had you joined them, and my side are not in the habit of hurting children. Tell me, Maleficent, why are you really here? Is it revenge against our mutual foes?"

Maleficent smiled to herself. She had expected such a question but from the queen herself? My, it was an honour. Well, at the very least knew that in Arendelle, children were not threatened. The same could not be said for Somnia, nor a fair few other nations she could name.

"Of the many curses I have laid upon those who have stood against me over the years, one stands out. Do you know why it is that only true love's kiss could break a curse cast by me?"

"As a girl, I always saw it as a silver lining, proof that not even villains like you could overcome love. Now that I am older and wiser, I can safely say that I do not know, not in the slightest." Elsa's voice was wary, as if she thought Maleficent was leading her into a trap.

Maleficent smiled at the notion. No, just this once, she'd keep her claws sheathed.

"Because, for the longest time, I believed that true love did not exist, not in this world or the next." Leaning over her son, she pressed her lips to her brow before rising to her feet. Putting on her headpiece and grasping her staff, she made for the door. She paused in the threshold, inclining her head.

"I was wrong."

In her lifetime, Maleficent had committed sins beyond count. She had burned cities and killed thousands. She had pushed pregnant princesses from balconies, knowing that Morgan would be there to break the fall. She had cursed infants in their cribs.

In the end, her son was the one thing that she had done right.

* * *

A tendril of smoke escaped her lips as she leaned back in the chaise lounge, her feet propped up on a velvet ottoman. In one hand she held a cigar, and in the other she clasped a glass of brandy. Flames crackled in the fireplace, warming the elegant room, and a chorus of cinders flew into the air as a log hissed and snapped.

"Do you think they can do it?" asked Tsar Luna, not looking up from his book. He was a stern man, tall and thin, with close-cropped grey hair and a monocle. Despite being in the comfort of his own home, he was dressed in a crisp suit, his cane leaning against the side of his armchair. Tipped with aurum gold, the cane was made from wood cut from the world tree, and it was crowned with a crescent moon.

It was a simple thing, but in his hands it was as lethal as her wand.

"Who can say?" she replied, nursing her drink. "If I were a betting woman, I'd wager that they stand a chance."

"I would say that you'd have to be quite mad to believe that," he replied. "Their chance, as you put it, is as slim as the blade of a knife." He turned the page and adjusted his monocle.

"But still a chance," she retorted. "And, my dear Tsar Luna, I dare I say I went mad many centuries ago."

"Indeed, Godmother," he replied. "Indeed."

Recognising the dismissal, she rose to her feet and took her leave off the manor. The journey to her home was as short as the flick of her wand, and as she stepped through the familiar wooden door, she took a deep breath. The memories of her life before becoming the Godmother was faint as a whisper, lost to the centuries of what the world had been like in an era that now existed only in fossils.

She had been the First Guardian, created by Tsar Luna during her world's darkest hour. Over the years, there had been others who came after, but still she remained, eternal and ephemeral and unyielding in her service to the world that had once been hers. It was changed, though, and in the brief moments that she was summoned, she could scarcely recognise it.

The Godmother paused as she walked past the roses blooming in her pots. Flecks of white shone through the red paint, and she breathed a weary sigh. It was past time she painted them again. Tomorrow… she would do so tomorrow.

Suddenly, she stilled, sensing a presence. It crept behind her, dark and ominous, and she rolled her eyes. Quick as a snake, she jabbed out a hand and grabbed the shadow by its ankle, lifting it into the air and staring at it with a raised eyebrow.

"How rude," she said. "You can come out now, Pan, or I shall throw this shabby thing into the fire."

The shadow panicked in her grasp, whirling and spinning, but she retained her grip. A slow clapping filled the room, and she saw him walk down the stairs in all his green finery. Whenever she saw him, she always found herself questioning Tsar Luna's sanity. He had been barely fifteen when he'd died, beaten to death by a barbaric father, and yet, the Man in the Moon had raised him up all the same.

Too young, she had said, but he had paid her no mind.

"One of these days, Alice, I'll manage to sneak up on you," he said, hopping onto her sofa and folding his arms behind his head. Propping his feet onto her coffee table, he grinned.

"What do you want, Peter?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "Is Neverland truly so boring that you have to break into my home so often?"

"I'll have you know that Neverland is fantastic this time of year," he said. "I've just rescued a fresh bunch of lads, though, and you know how exhausting it is without Tink. I needed a break."

Her features softened as she took a seat beside him. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that Pan was almost as old as she was, though there was a century or two between them. She was not certain about the exact number of years, as one tended to lose track after celebrating their first millennium, but she knew that just as she had been the first, he had been the second.

"You know that if you need help, you need only ask," she said. "I can have another fairy awaiting you in Neverland by the time you return."

His expression hardened as he looked at her, his smile fading.

"There's no replacing Tink," he said, his voice cold, "And there never will be."

The Godmother sighed as she got to her feet, realising that there was little more he'd say now that he was in one of his moods. Patting him on the shoulder, she told him that he could stay as long as he liked but that he was too lock the door on his way out, before she headed for the stairs. There were a great many trinkets in her home, salvaged from a world nearing its doom.

In the end, Tsar Luna had been forced to personally intervene, forcing back the shadows with a wave of his wand and, as he put it, starting the world over. It had been done four times before, he had told her, and that was why he'd created them, the Guardians, to ensure he'd never have to do so again.

She walked into her bedroom, letting the door click shut behind her, and began to pull the pins out of her hair. It was time for bed. Tomorrow, it would be a new day, and there would be much more to do.

Reaching out to caress the well-worn hat she kept upon her bedside table, the Godmother felt the barest memory of her old life flicker within the recesses of her mind, and then it was gone as though it had never been there in the first place. Settling down in bed, she closed her eyes and dreamed of a world long since gone.


	7. The Winter Solstice

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 **The Winter Solstice**

* * *

For the first time since arriving in Arendelle, Morgan was not bored.

The Winter Solstice Festival, it turned out, was quite a big deal for the people of Arendelle. The streets were filled with people and music, and there were more stalls and booths than he had ever seen in his life. More importantly, there was no guard tailing him. It would appear that saving the heavily pregnant sister of the queen from certain death had endeared him to the court of Arendelle.

His mother had left several days ago, and their farewell had been brief. Neither was the sort to engage heavily in sentiment and although her eyes had grown a bit watery—which she would deny, as always—he had simply given her a hug and wished her well. Not that she needed it. His mother was Maleficent, and no matter who she was up against, she always triumphed in the end.

Shaking his head to clear it of thoughts of his mother, he turned back to the couple who had accompanied him down to the festival. Alyssa and Cornelius were much nicer to him these days, which he was grateful for, even if he would have preferred they not treat him to their public displays of affection whenever they thought nobody was looking. Still… it was nice to have friends, for once, so he couldn't complain too much.

"Hey, you coming?" asked Cornelius, grabbing him by the shoulder.

Morgan looked up from his cotton-candy, somewhat confused. They'd just got here, and there were still a few of the game booths that he hadn't tried. There was one that had caught his eye which offered a stuffed dragon as the grand prize. He wanted it for his mother, as a welcome back gift for when she finally returned; she'd be quite tickled by it, he believed.

"Trust me, you're going to want to see this," said Alyssa, a twinkle in her eye.

They led him back up the crowd until they reached the marketplace. A large stage had been erected there for the performers, but it was currently occupied by the royal family: A smiling Queen Elsa, a grim-faced Prince Nicholas, and an awkward Prince Consort Kristoff… and for some reason, a very large reindeer. A large choir stood behind them, and Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"Princess Anna?" he asked, feeling a flicker of concern.

"She's just not up to coming down to the festival this year," said Alyssa, squeezing his shoulder. "Nick says the baby should be here within the next week or so."

"And, what are they doing up there?" asked Morgan.

"Oh, just give it a few seconds," said Cornelius.

The queen stepped forward, raising her hands. The fountains on either side of the stage froze, the ice forming elegant whorls. The music dimmed, if just a little, and the people paused in their celebrations, focusing on her instead. All around Morgan, people were placing their clenched fists over their hearts and were holding their heads upright.

Realization dawned. He'd seen something like this, once before, though he'd been watching from above the clouds at the time. It had been in Somnia, and as a young boy of nine, he had wanted nothing more than to visit the festival. His mother had forbidden it, and he had snuck out, but the best he'd been able to do is fly out of sight and watch.

"Verðug dróttning stór. Hjarta af gulli skína," sang the Queen, and Morgan grinned as, at her side, Nicholas began to mouth the words of his country's national anthem. Queen Elsa's voice was beautiful, he thought, but it was quickly becoming clear that Nicholas was not.

"This is fantastic," he said, and Cornelius nodded in agreement. Alyssa held up one of her grandfather's latest inventions, something she called a camera and aimed it at the stage. If it worked like she told them it would, then it would create portraits of whatever she was focusing on at the time. Morgan thought the idea was quite ingenious, if a little far-fetched given there was no magic involved.

A few minutes later, the song came to an end and Queen Elsa began giving a speech. It was fairly generic, in Morgan's opinion, but he saw Nicholas slipping off the stage along with his uncle and heading in their direction. He looked quite dapper today, dressed in a cream coloured suit, wearing his circlet and his signet ring.

"That was very nice, Nick," said Alyssa, standing up on the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek when he reached them. "You must sing for us more often."

"Ha-ha," he replied, giving her a good-natured push. "I have an hour to kill before I need to head back to the castle. Want to have some fun?"

"Only if you promise us a serenade before you leave," said Cornelius. He brought his fingers to his eye and feigned a sniffle, unable to hide his grin. "It was truly beautiful."

"Very funny, Cor," said Nicholas, turning to Morgan. "Do you have anything to add?"

Morgan grinned as an idea popped into his head. Bringing his hands to his ears, he began to mime that he couldn't hear and if it was possible for Nicholas to repeat the question. _I've gone deaf_ , he mimed, hoping that they were following his hand movements, or the joke would be a bit lost. _I just heard the most awful singing._

Cornelius roared with laughter, clapping him on the back, and Nick shook his head. He was smiling though, so Morgan figured he wouldn't be beheaded for offending the crown prince just yet. As they began to walk back to the booths, Morgan felt a hand on his back.

"I was wrong about you, you know," said Alyssa, falling into step beside him. "You're not half-bad."

"I will take that as a compliment," he replied.

"Do, because I don't give them out very often." She flitted away, losing herself in the crowd and tugging Cornelius along with her. Nicholas and he moved to follow, but a trio of drunk men burst through the door of a pub and blocked their path for just the right amount of time to lose sight of the couple.

"Eh, they'll come back in about ten minutes after realizing they've lost us," said Morgan, who had been dealing with similar separations all morning.

"Fifteen," replied Nicholas. "They'll sneak off for five to kiss in one of the alleys."

Morgan chuckled as he stood with the prince in companionable silence. Finally, he gestured for one of the nearby booths and, seeing Nicholas' nod, they headed over. This was where he'd won the cotton-candy earlier, and it was quite the enjoyable game. The goal was to roll a ball down a sloped panel and let it land in the highest scoring hole, and if he did say so himself, he was quite good at it.

"I haven't thanked you yet, have I?" asked Nicholas, as he reached for a ball and tossed it forward with an expert flick of the wrist, scoring twenty-five points on his first try.

"For?" asked Morgan, who had just scored five.

"Saving my aunt," he replied. There, another twenty points.

"It's not a big deal." He flushed, turning his head away as he rolled. One point. He scowled, and now he knew he looked ridiculous. Who blushed and scowled at the same time, whilst also avoiding eye contact with the person they were speaking too? Well, him, but he didn't want to look like an idiot.

"It's a big deal to me, okay?" said Nicholas. "So, thank you." He smiled. "Now, how about I teach you how to actually play skee-ball?"

"That might take a while," replied Morgan, sighing as the ball he'd just rolled went flying off the panel and nearly hitting the proprietor in the head.

"I have an hour to kill," replied Nick, reaching out to grasp Morgan's hand. "See, you're throwing it. It's more of a flick, like this." Morgan held his hand loose as Nick ficked his wrist, and he grinned as the ball went spiralling into just the right hole to win him fifteen points.

* * *

As Nick walked into his bedroom, tired from the festival, he slipped off his circlet and set it down on his desk. His head felt much lighter without it, and he flopped down on his bed, his stomach churning from the abundance of sweets and ice-cream he'd eaten in the past few hours. It had been a fun day, awkward singing notwithstanding, and he'd actually enjoyed spending some time Morgan. His bark was a lot worse that his bite, and his jokes were still a bit off-putting, but it was nice to hang out with someone new for a change.

"Well, well, well," said a familiar voice that sent a thrill of elation running through him. "Has it been so long that my own son doesn't even notice me when he walks into the room?"

Nick leapt off the bed, ignoring his protesting stomach. His gaze flickered around the room until falling upon the young man sitting on his window seat. Hair white as snow, barefoot, and dressed in a pair of tattered brown pants that ended just above his ankles and a well-worn blue hoodie, Jack Frost grinned at him. His crooked staff leaned against the wall beside him, right beside Nick's, and without a word, Nick launched himself on his father.

It was odd, he knew, that his father never aged, and that if the two of them were to stand side-by-side, Nick would be the one who looked older. He was taller as well, by just an inch or two, but that changed nothing. Nearly knocking them both to the floor, he wrapped his arms around his dad in a vice-like grip, inhaling the familiar scent of frost. He had missed him, more than his father would ever know.

"Easy there, Nick," said Jack, patting him on the back. "You're not as light as you used to be. Now, tell me everything I've missed? Did you really sneak into your mother's wine cabinet last Christmas? You're lucky I'm a close friend of Santa's, or who knows how long you'd be on his naughty list?"

"How did you know about that?" Nick pouted, feeling very much like a young child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie-jar. Most people at his age would simply scoff at the mention of Santa being a real person, but given that the boisterous, vodka-loving Spirit of Christmas was both his namesake and his godfather, Nick had learned the hard way that the naughty list was a very real thing.

"Just because I can't visit all the time doesn't mean I don't keep an eye on your mother and you," said Jack, a wistful smile on his face as he reached across to ruffle Nick's hair.

"Yes, because that's not creepy at all," replied Nick with a laugh.

Jack laughed, his eyes twinkling, but Nick recognised the shift. Resting a hand on his shoulder, his father met his eye and squeezed.

"Your mother's worried about you, you know," he said. "I am too, actually. So, will you do your old man a favour and tell me what's wrong?"

Nick sighed as he leaned back into the cushions, pulling up his legs and resting his knees on his chin. Opening his mouth to lie, he paused. This was not his mother, and nor was it Alyssa or Cornelius. This wasn't Aunt Anna or Uncle Kristoff, and it wasn't his cousin Brynhildr, who was more rock troll than girl. This was his father, and his father never judged or cared about what the problem was.

Taking a deep breath, he sighed, thinking it best to ease into the subject.

"Dad, how do you draw the line? You're the Spirit of Winter, but you're also my dad, and you love Mum. How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Jack looked confused, scratching at his head.

"How do you balance them? How do you tell where Jack Frost ends and the Guardian begins?"

"I don't," said Jack with a shrug, a curious look on his face. "I'm not Jack Frost _and_ a Guardian; I'm Jack Frost _the_ Guardian, and the father, and the husband." He reached out, patting Nick on the cheek. "Just like you're not Nick and the Prince of Arendelle. You're Nick, the prince of Arendelle. Just like your mother isn't El—"

"I get it," he said, interrupting his father before he went onto a long-winded tangent that would no doubt involve Santa or Bunnymund in some capacity. "I just… I don't know how."

"You are you, and I am I." Jack frowned. "I am me? Anyway, Nick, there doesn't need to be a firm line drawn down the middle. Just be yourself."

"But, what if being myself means I can't be the prince?" Nick wished his voice wasn't so small, that he didn't feel as though he was such a disappointment to his mother and her legacy. "What if… what if doing what would make me happy means that I can't fulfil my duties as heir to the throne?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, and shook his head. "I think it would be best if you told me what would make you happy because right now, I'm as lost as you sound."

"Dad, I'm gay," he said, and no sooner did he speak the words did a vice clamp upon his heart. He'd known for so long, and yet he'd never voiced it before, never actually said the words. Now that he had, however, he could already feel the walls closing in, he could already see the disappointment in his mother's eyes. She would want him to be happy, but if he was, who would sit the throne after her? Who would be King Arnádalr, and who would provide an heir?

He gasped for breath, his chest feeling tight, and his father did the last thing he'd have expected. Reaching out, Jack Frost pulled him into a hug and patted him on the back.

"In case it's escaped your notice, I'm dead," he said, a smile on his face. "If something like that didn't stop your mother and I, what stands in your way?"

"Look at me, Nick," Jack continued, and Nick looked up, blinking away the tears that brimmed in his eyes. "The day you were born was the happiest day of my life because you were something I thought I could never have… you know, since I drowned at seventeen. Yet, here you are, and here I am."

"Dad, that's sweet, but while being technically dead might…"

"Put a damper on my fertility, shall we say?"

Nick grimaced, not wanting that image in his head, but continued nonetheless. "If I let myself fall in love, and if I marry, I can't have an heir, which is rather the point of being king. To keep the throne secure."

"You're looking at the problem wrong," said Jack, and Nick did not appreciate the way his father rolled his eyes. "Now, close your eyes and think. What would have happened had something, Ol' Moony forbid, happened to your mother before you were born? Who would the crown have passed to?"

"Aunt Anna, of course," he replied without hesitation. He didn't understand what his father was getting at. He knew full well how the laws of inheritance worked in Arendelle. The crown always passed to the eldest living descendant of the current monarch, and if there was no bloodline, it would pass to the eldest, most direct relative, and a male always came before a female.

He paused. If there was no bloodline…

"Dad, Aunt Anna is my heir as of this moment, should any ill befall both Mother and I," he whispered.

"I'm sure that you'll be a wonderful king, Nick," said Jack. "And, in the end, Anna is pregnant with her second child, and who knows how many children they may still have, or how many children their children will have?"

The crushing weight that had been on his shoulders for the last three years away like rainwater, and he took a deep breath. It would be fine. There'd be talk… and gossip. But, it would be fine. He would be fine. Why? Why hadn't he figured that out on his own? He wanted to smack himself, but a small, quiet voice at the back of head reminded him that, maybe, all he'd needed was his dad to do what he always did: point him in the right direction.

"Besides, son," added Jack, reaching out to wipe Nick's tears. "I haven't visited your mother yet, tonight. Who knows? Maybe this time next year, you'll have a three-month-old sibling?"

Nick gagged. "Seriously, Dad? Gross."

* * *

Elsa let out a blissful moan as she collapsed against the sheets, completely and utterly spent. Reaching out, she tangled her fingers through Jack's hair as, gasping for breath, he slumped beside her. Lying on his chest, he lazily extended an arm across his waist, propping himself up on one elbow and meeting her eyes.

"Well, it's been a while since we did that," he said, grinning, not seeming to care that her lipstick had smudged across his cheeks and neck.

"Three times as well," she teased, running a hand down his chest. "I take it you missed me."

"That obvious, love?" he asked, leaning in and stealing a kiss.

Wrapping an arm around his back, she pulled him forward. His lips were soft and cool, like the first breath of winter, and his nimble fingers danced across her skin as she hooked a leg around his waist. She had missed him as well, and their reunion had been as passionate as it always was. Frantic kisses had led to clothes being shed, or ripped, as was the case with her new dress, and they had tumbled into bed several hours ago.

With Jack, it was easy to forget her worries, to let go of her responsibilities. When she was with him, she never wanted to leave his arms. It was easy to let the last twenty years slip through her fingers like water and to remember, just for a night, what it was like to be seventeen once again, and to feel the first kiss of true love as she fell for the spirit of ice and snow.

"Elsa," he whined as her leg brushed him right there, pulling away from her. "I know I'm a spirit, but even I have a refractory period."

"You're just getting old," she teased, pressing a kiss to his nose.

"I know," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Just turned one-hundred and thirty-five a few weeks ago. I wish you'd been there."

"How'd you celebrate?" she asked, ignoring the pang in her chest. She wished for the same thing he did, but she knew that it was something that neither of them could ever share. He had his responsibilities, and she had hers, but for this one night, they were simply Elsa and Jack.

"Nothing major." He grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he teased her breasts. "Bunnymund took me to a strip-club, North and I shared a cigar, Tooth Fairy gave me a lap dance, and Peter took all my money in a game of poker."

Flipping them over so that she lay on top of him, she pressed her lips to his. Pulling away, she whispered. "Bunnymund is too afraid of me to take you to such a place," she said, giving him another kiss. "You don't smoke." A kiss. "Tooth Fairy would have a stroke if you even suggested that to her." A kiss. "And, serves you right for playing poker with Pan. He cheats." This time, a light smack on his chest.

"Oh, to be young and a bachelor again." Jack smirked. "To be free of the old ball-and-chain."

"Who are you calling old, Mister One-hundred and thirty-five?" She asked, nipping at his lower lip with her teeth.

"So, you admit that you're a ball-and-chain?" He raised an eyebrow, and then whined as she ground her thigh right where he had told her not to. He jerked beneath her, too sensitive to tolerate further sensation, and this time, she was the one grinning.

"Oh, I'm going to get you for that one," she said, finally taking mercy and stopping, only to be pulled in for another searing kiss.

Later, much later, she lay on her side with Jack lying behind her, one arm slung over her waist and the other drawing small circles on the small of her back. Now that they had both been sated, they felt their minds wandering to other places, and indeed, the last half-hour had been spent doing nothing but talking about what the other had missed.

"I miss too many things," sighed Jack, and she rolled over to face him. For once, there wasn't a grin on his face. His eyes were downcast, and he was frowning. "His first steps, his first words, the first time he went skating. Birthdays, Christmases… it all adds up, doesn't it."

"You're there when he needs you," she said, reaching out to brush his hair away from his eyes. "Even though I'm right here and you're on the other side of the world for all he knows, you're always there when he needs you most."

"He's going to be all right, isn't he, Elsa?" said Jack. "No, I know he's going to be all right."

Her husband's eyes were heavy with fatigue, but he smiled at her as he pulled her closer so that she was nestled against his chest. Stifling a yawn, he pressed a kiss into her hair.

"I spoke to him tonight before I came up to see you," Jack continued. "I wouldn't count my chickens yet, but I think we may just gotten rid of that surly, broody lad wearing our son's skin and got our boy back."

"You did?" Elsa's heart fluttered. "Oh, Jack…"

"He's going to come and speak to you tomorrow, Elsa, but you need to just listen and hear him out, all right? It's not going to be easy on him, at all, but for what it's worth, I haven't seen him smile like that since he was thirteen and I could still keep him entertained with a snowball fight."

"I don't care if he tells me that he's decided to shave his head and move to Somnia to join the circus," she replied, and she meant every word she said. "I just want him to be happy."

"It's all I want as well, Elsa," murmured Jack, already half-asleep. "By the way…" He snuggled closer, letting his hand twine through her hair as he did so. "Happy nineteenth wedding anniversary, my love."

* * *

"Hello, Cornelius." Princess Margaret walked up to him, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. As usual, she wore pink, only she had replaced the tacky flowers in her hair with a large bow.

Cornelius grimaced, linking his fingers with Alyssa beneath the table. They were at a small coffee house in a quiet corner of the city, and it was getting late. They'd been about to call for the bill and head back to the castle when Margaret and Aurelia had walked in, clutching large teddy bears, and had made a beeline for their table.

"Prince Cornelius, if you don't mind," he said with a tight smile. "It's only polite to refer to your peers by their titles, Princess Margaret."

"Oh, heavens, silly us, we wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea, would we?" said Aurelia, taking a seat. "How are you two doing? It's been _ages_ since we talked."

"Perhaps it's because I'd rather spend time with those whose company I enjoy," said Alyssa, her nails digging into Cornelius' wrist. He winced. She was stronger than she looked.

"Come now, that's no way to talk, Princess Alyssa, especially to me." Seeming delighted, Princess Margaret leaned across the table. In a conspiratorial whisper, she added, "We are soon to be sisters, you and I, after all?"

"Come again?" Cornelius spluttered, feeling a sinking sensation in his stomach. Turning to his girlfriend, he saw that her expression was stony. He tightened his grip on her wrist. She was getting angry, and it would not do for her to lose control in a public setting and attack two princesses.

"Oh, you don't know?" asked Aurelia, batting her lashes at him.

"As it turns out, neither do I," said Alyssa through gritted teeth. "Princess Margaret, would you care to explain the meaning of your words?"

Margaret and Aurelia shared a knowing look and grinned. Partners in crime, the two of them, and there were days when Cornelius was tempted to forget his princely valor and smack them himself. But, they knew something that he didn't, and it would work out best for him to extract that information.

"Well, as you know, I will be marrying Prince Nicholas soon," she began.

"Actually, didn't Queen Elsa reject that offer?" asked Alyssa, raising an eyebrow.

"A technicality, nothing more," Margaret said, waving a dismissive hand in front of her. "And, in turns out that Daddy has been very busy. Not even a few hours ago he mentioned to Mummy and I that he was hopeful to finalize a marriage contract for my dear brother, Prince Christopher, soon."

"No," whispered Alyssa, her face draining of colour.

"Actually, yes," said Margaret. "Don't look so glum, sweety. My brother is rich, handsome, and the heir to my father's kingdom. You could do a lot worse, and he could do a lot better, if you ask me."

A hundred emotions flickered through Cornelius' mind as he soaked in the information, and he felt something heavy in his gut. He had not felt fear like this since the day he had almost drowned, and his mother had pulled him from the wreckage twenty minutes after he'd gone under. This… this was not how it was supposed to go. He was meant to go home to Corona after the festival and broach the topic with his mother, and Alyssa with hers. His father was already on their side, and he'd expected her father to cave to his wife's demands. It was no secret that while Amoré was ruled by King Adam, his heart was ruled by Queen Belle.

"Cor, take me back to the castle," Alyssa whispered.

Nodding, he helped her to her feet, ignoring the looks shared by Aurelia and Margaret. She was shivering. Slipping off his coat, he placed it on her shoulders as he led her out of the coffee house and up the winding streets. The festival was still in full swing, but he drowned it all out.

"Your room," she whispered, as they walked through the castle gates. "I… don't want to be alone right now."

"You're never alone," he replied, glancing around the entrance foyer to make sure they were alone before pressing his lips to her brow.

The walk to the bedroom he'd been staying in was a quick one. When he opened the door, he took a step back in surprise. Candles flickered on the desk, the dresser, the bedside tables, and the window ledges. And, there were rose petals scattered across his bed. A soft squeak escaped his lips as he turned to her.

"Did you do this?"

"I asked Nick to help," she said. Collapsing onto his bed, she tossed the rose petals aside and buried her face in her hands. "It doesn't matter now. Oh, Godmother… does my father not know me at all?"

"Alyssa," he said, drawing her into his arms. Her head buried into his shoulders as she returned the embrace, shivering and crying into his shirt. "We knew it would be difficult."

"There is difficult and then there is the fact that I have seemingly been bartered off without my consent," she said, pulling away. The tears were no longer falling, and there was a fury in her eyes that he knew well. "I would sooner abdicate that marry Christopher Charming."

"Chris isn't that bad, to be honest," said Cornelius, biting his lip. "You know him, always lost in his books and those stuffed animals he accidently brought to life. I doubt he even knows about this."

"Whether he knows or not, it doesn't change the fact that _he is not you,"_ she said, her voice shrill as she rose to her feet. "I love my country and I love my people, and call me selfish if you want, but I will not be locked in a loveless marriage for the rest of my life because my father doesn't like you."

"Do you think I'm happy?" he yelled, getting up. "Do you think I like knowing that the girl I love is engaged to someone else?"

"I didn't say that," she screamed. "I just… I just wish things were simpler."

"Then, let's make them simple." He wasn't sure where the sudden streak of impulsiveness had come from, and he'd blame his father's genes should this go wrong, but he was suddenly past the point of caring. If the people around them seemed so set on writing his story for him, then it was time to yank the book back and give himself his happily ever after.

Dropping to one knee, he looked up Alyssa with a determined glint in his eye. He would have done this in the future anyway, so what was bringing that future to the present? The chips would fall where they would, but when the dust cleared, he would have Alyssa at his side.

"Alyssa Rose, Princess of Amoré, will you marry me?" he asked.

"Yes." There was no hesitation as she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up, pressing her lips to his. She reached for the buckle of his belt, and he paused, even as elation soared through his heart. _She said yes… she said yes… she's going to marry me… she has her hands in my underwear_.

That last thought made him blush, and he looked at her, and she must have seen the caution in his eyes because she paused.

"I… only if you're ready, Cornelius," she said.

"I am," he replied, grasping her by the waist as they tumbled back into his bed.

* * *

"I am very cross indeed, Nick," said Elsa, staring at her son as he shuffled from foot-to-foot. She tried to mask her smile and failed, a teasing glint in her eye. "Very, very cross."

The revelation that her son was gay had been wholly unexpected, but then, she had never given the matter much thought. If she was being honest with herself, who he chose to love changed nothing. He would still be her little boy, even if he was taller than she was—something Jack seemed to find quite amusing—and he would still be her heir. She had raised him to one day rule, and if he wished to name a nephew or niece his heir, that made no difference to her than if it was her own grandchild.

Still, she couldn't resist having a tiny bit of fun at her son's expense. For the past few years, she'd been worried sick about him. There had been a hundred different ideas running through her head at all times as she tried to find out what had him in such a state, ranging from drugs to him having a secret child in the city. That last idea had not been her proudest moment, truth be told. Jack certainly found what she'd just said amusing from his perch in a tree branch above her, judging by his chuckles.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, and her heart sank. Had he not seen her smile? Did she truly believe… no, she decided, suddenly serious. No, the levity could wait. She had wanted to make it feel as if she didn't mind, as if the news was something casual they could joke about… she felt like kicking herself.

"Nick, I'm not angry with you. That was a joke," she said, reaching out to pull him down to the picnic blanket so he was sitting beside her. "The only reason I have to be a little miffed, really, is that you felt you couldn't tell me sooner."

"I… wait, you're not cross?"

"No," she said, ruffling his hair like she'd done when he'd stood no higher than her knee. "I told you before that I could never be angry at you doing something that would make you happy, and I meant it. I love you, Nick, and I always will. Even if you told me that you were an axe-murderer, I'd have some serious concerns, but I'd still love you."

He giggled through his tears and hugged her, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "You'd still love me if I murdered Queen Snow with an axe?" he asked.

"'Course we would, Nick," said Jack, hopping down from the tree and landing neatly beside them. "In fact, we'd probably love you more."

"Jack," scolded Elsa, reaching out to pinch her husband in the shoulder. "Don't condone killing my peers."

"You have no peers, love," he replied with a grin. "You're in a league of your own."

She blushed, dimly aware of the face her son was pulling between them, and she reached out to ruffle his hair again. This… this was nice. It was just the three of them having a picnic on the shore beside the frozen fjords, and for the first time in a long time, her son's smile reached his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner, Nick?" she asked, as she felt him lean his head against her shoulder, stifling a yawn. Jack had moved to the other side of her, one arm slung around her shoulders as he helped himself to cherry pie, and in that moment, she felt utterly complete.

"I thought it I concealed it, I wouldn't feel it, and then I could just do everything that's expected of a normal prince, and I could make you proud." Looking up at her, he shrugged. "It's harder than it looks."

 _Like mother, like son_ , she thought with a pang. "I'm always proud," she said, kissing him on his brow. When Jack cleared his throat, she chuckled and turned to give him a quick peck on the lips.

"So, Nick," said Jack. "You reckon you're a better skater than I am yet?" Floating, he did a somersault in the air before landing on the ground, a pair of ice-skates appearing on his feet.

"You're on," said her son, getting to his feet in an instant and following his father to the fjord. "C'mon, Mum."

Elsa smiled before following and, for the first time in what felt like forever, she knew that everything would turn out all right.

.

"Take care of your mother, you hear me?" said Jack, giving his son a tight hug before turning to his wife. "And you, take care of our son, you hear me?" He waggled an eyebrow, trying to dispel the ache in his chest as the last gleam of the setting sun lit the sky behind him.

"Don't worry, I will," said Nick with a smile. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Nick."

His son took a few steps back, leaving him and his wife alone on the edge of the balcony. Reaching out, Jack ran a hand down her cheek, wiping away the tears brimming in her eyes. Swallowing, he leaned in, letting his brow rest against hers.

"Do you have to go so soon, Jack?" she asked.

"You know I have to, love," he replied, drawing her close. Pressing his lips to hers, he gave her one last kiss before slipping away. Tumbling off the balcony, he caught himself, and he floated back up so that he was face-to-face with her. He opened his mouth to say something.

Then, the last light of the sun was gone, and he felt something jerking within his navel. Biting his lip, he turned and flew off into the night. Looking back, he saw his wife still standing against the railing, her hands clamped upon the balustrade. Nick stood behind her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she was sobbing into their son's shoulder.

"Oh, quit it, Moony," he snapped, spinning around in mid-air and dashing back the way he'd come. The tugging in his gut intensified, but he ignored it. Halfway back, he felt a restraining hand, small but firm, on his shoulder.

"You can't," said Peter Pan, shaking his head. "More than most, you know the rules."

"Fine," said Jack, shaking free of his friend's grasp before taking off into the night.


	8. The Tears of Agrabah

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 **The Tears of Agrabah**

* * *

Long ago, her mother had seen to it that she would never have to rely on a man for rescue.

Jabbing her rapier into the training dummy's eye, Alyssa grimaced as the button came loose and a tuft of straw popped out of the hole. This was the fifth dummy that she'd damaged so far, and she hoped that the castle's master-of-arms would not be too put out about the entire thing. This dummy, in particular, was currently wearing one of her father's cloaks—his favourite, in fact, but he deserved it— and she'd drawn some whiskers on its face.

It looked just like him, she thought as she slashed open its waist. Killing kings, even if they were one's overbearing, somewhat idiotic father, was frowned upon in most of the realms that comprised the council, but beating the crap out of their effigy was actually quite soothing.

She was in the ballroom that Nick and Cor had used for their duel last week, and that Queen Elsa had allowed the royal children to use as a training room for the remainder of their visit. There were targets set up in the corner by Cor, and judging by the numerous arrows which made them look like pincushions, he'd come here already.

It was a fool's errand, but it was the only way left to them at this point. An engagement could be broken by a king's decree, but a marriage was far more challenging, especially if the marriage contract was magical in nature. Thankfully, Alyssa had a very good friend who just happened to both magical and a prince, meaning that if she could convince him, he could easily officiate a quiet ceremony. Witnesses would be trickier, but she'd be able to rope in Morgan if need be, and would Olaf count?

She wished Prince Ali was here. A friend of hers since childhood, he'd leap at the idea of helping her get married in secret, and that would be one witness done and dusted. Or, had she been home in Amoré, she could wrangle Chip away from the kitchens long enough for him to serve as a witness. If it came down to it, she could try convincing Lumieré; the grand butler of Amoré had doted on her since she'd been born and surely, if she asked nicely, he'd help her get married. There were other things to consider as well, such as her mother's reaction to the news… and her father's reaction.

No, she thought. King Adam had lost that right. His judgement or thoughts on the matter were no longer her concern.

"Stupid Father." She scowled, slashing, jabbing, and flourishing her sword. "Stupid Margaret. Stupid King Charming. Stupid Christopher."

Behind her, she heard the room door slip open. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Nick leaning against the doorframe and tossing a snowball into the air. He raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the damage she had done to the dummies, and a part of her was thankful that it was just him who'd found her in such a state. Next time, and there would be a next time, she'd need to remember to lock the door behind her.

"Who pissed you off?" he asked.

"My father," she replied, turning back to the training dummy. Straw stuck out of the many holes she'd slashed in the thick leather, and the head hung on by a thread. One of its arms lay on the floor, the wooden pole that served as the frame ending in splinters. "He's gone off and decided that I should marry Christopher Charming."

"Who isn't that bad, but he isn't Cor," supplied Nick.

At this, she turned. Raising an eyebrow, she studied her friend. He looked lighter that he had just a day ago, as though a large weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but at this moment, she didn't care enough to delve into his issues.

"Cornelius told me this morning," said Nick. "It's crazy, you know that right."

"Well, we all go a little mad sometimes, don't we?" she asked, moving onto the next training dummy. This one was still whole, and she'd taken the liberty of sticking a yellow sheet to its head and drawing on a face with her lipstick. Now, if she squinted, it looked just like Margaret Charming.

"Hey, don't get snippy with me. I'm on board," he said walking over to her. "Now, if you'd rather work out your rage the old-fashioned way..."

"Sorry, Nick, but Cor took care of that last night." She smirked at her friend, giving him a mild wink.

"I thought he looked a bit too pleased with himself at breakfast," Nick said, despite the light blush staining his cheeks. "Besides, as far as _that's_ concerned, Cor has a better shot than you do, and he's my cousin."

Right, that one got her full attention. Whirling, abandoning all thoughts of the dummy Margaret who'd just lost an eye, she stared at him. Glancing around the room, she realized that he'd spoken a bit too loudly, given that had there been even a single person in the corridor outside, they'd have heard.

"No more secrets, Alyssa," he said with a smile. "Not for me, at least. Well, I'm not going to run around telling everyone, but I'm not afraid of anyone finding out, not anymore."

She moved to hug him before pausing. Taking a deep breath, she smiled, hoping that her teeth had returned to normal. "I'd hug you, but I'm still really mad, and, you know?"

"Wouldn't want to break my bones, now, would you, wolf girl?" he said. "You can hug me later, but, right now." He flicked his wrist, letting a sword of ice form in his grasp, and he pointed it at her. "The old-fashioned way?"

"Only if you promise not to be offended when you lose to a girl," she said, unable to help the grin that spilled across her face.

"Then come, Lady of Roses, and show me your steel," he declared, but she raised a warning finger and shook her head. No, she would duel with him for fun, and to release the tension that had been building all morning. Never, however, would she partake in the silly theatrics that Nick and Cornelius did whenever they sparred.

"No," she said, glaring at him. "I'm not quite that mad."

He pouted, and she sighed before raising her rapier. For Godmother's sake, why did her friend look so much like a lost puppy when he pouted? It was disconcerting, really, given that he was entirely too tall and lanky to be a puppy.

"Fine," she said. "Oh, Lord of the South, put up your ruddy… errr? Ice! Put up your ice before I ram my boot up your ass."

"Yeah, okay, we won't be doing that," said Nick hurriedly, and without another word, their swords met as the two of them duelled across the empty ballroom. With each feint and sidestep, she felt her tension melt, mostly because unlike the dummies, she couldn't really hurt Nick… but she could enjoy herself all the same.

For what felt like hours, steel clashed against ice as they danced circles around the other. It had been a long time since she'd duelled with Nick, and it reminded her that his style was quite similar to hers. He was slight of frame and light on his feet, relying on evading her attacks and attempting to find the weak point in her guard rather than break her guard altogether. It was nice, she thought, that they had such similar styles—training with those who were only content to hack and slash was a wearisome practice, after all.

But he made up for his lack of strength by being as light on his feet as she was, able to match her swings without breaking a sweat. He was faster as well, dare she say it, though she wagered that if she could break his guard, one punch from her would have him flat on his ass.

Finally, they collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. She was sweaty, and her hair was wild and tangled. His pale skin had gone red as he sat cross-legged beside her, winded, his hair and shirt sticking to his damp skin. The most unorthodox prince and princess in all the realm, she thought, but being normal was boring. It always had been.

"By the way, did Cornelius mention that we need you to officiate?"

"I'm doing what now?"

* * *

"I've restored several of the city's old wells," said Aquaria as she walked into the bedroom, leaning heavily upon her spear—a blend of gold and steel, crowned with sapphires and coral. She looked exhausted, her eyes drooping. Strands of hair escaped the half-dozen seashell hairpins she wore, sticking to her dampened skin. "By this afternoon, they'll be bloody as well."

"Thank you, Aquaria," said Aladdin, looking up from his son's bedside.

Ali had been slipping in-and-out of consciousness all morning, the fever burning through him no matter what the healers tried, and it was all they could do to keep him hydrated. Aquaria's ability to create fresh water from thin air had come in useful over the past few days, but she was flagging fast, and Aladdin was uncertain as to what the city would do once her magic failed her.

"How is he?" she asked, reaching out to tickle Rajah behind the ears as the old tiger walked up to her and placed his head in her lap.

"Not well." Aladdin sighed. "The healers believe his condition to be magical in nature, which does not bode well in the slightest."

Jasmine was on her way, he knew; Carpet had left to bring her home on the very evening that all the water in Agrabah had turned to blood. She would know what to do. His wife always knew what to do. Not that he had been idle. In his lap sat an empty lamp, something that an old friend had once left him before leaving to travel the world, but the enchantment laid upon it would suffice.

What had Genie called it before taking his leave? A distress call… A last resort. Well, given the current situation, and that it looked as if the apocalypse had finally come to pay his kingdom a visit, he was certainly in a lot of distress. Running a hand through his hair, he groaned. This was a nightmare. It had to be. Jasmine and he had already defeated their villain and gotten their happily ever after—it wasn't fair that they had to do so again.

But then, life wasn't fair. He had learned that on the streets of the city his wife now ruled.

"Sultan Aladdin," Aquaria began, but he raised a hand to cut her off.

"Aladdin will do," he said wearily. "If you're indeed marrying my son, that makes you family, and I draw the line at family calling me by my title."

"Yes, well, Aladdin, what is the plan of action, exactly?" She inclined her head, and for the first time since he had first walked in on her in his son's bedroom, she let her worry show. Her guard down, it was easy to see past Princess Aquaria of Atlantica, heiress to the Seven Seas, and realize that she was still a girl, little older than Jasmine and he had been when they had first faced Jafar.

"I don't know yet," he replied honestly. "But, I'll think of something. I always do. Just ask my wife."

"Ask me what, Aladdin?"

He winced at his wife's furious tone before turning to the doorway, forcing a smile to his face. Jasmine stood there, trembling as she always did when she was angry, and her fists were clenched as she glared at him with narrowed eyes.

"Don't answer that," she said, marching into the room. "Answer this instead. When were you planning on telling me that our son was this ill? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Carpet wakes me up in the middle of the night with a note tied to his tassel to tell me about our bloody canals, the floozy princess our son is supposedly marrying, and that Genie is on his way back to bail us out of this mess, but you don't think to mention that _MY SON IS DYING!"_

Grabbing him by his shirt, she hauled him to his feet and smacked him in the chest. Then, she was smacking him again, beating both hands on his chest as he winced, furious tears gleaming in her eyes as he wrapped her in his arms and held her close. Glancing down, he could already see his skin beginning to turn red where she had hit him, but he pressed his lips to her brow nonetheless, letting her scream and rant in his arms as she got it all out of her system.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she looked up at him and asked, "How is he?"

"Tired of your yelling," groaned Ali, and Aladdin's head whipped around at the sound of his son's voice.

Ali gazed up at them with feverishly yellowed eyes, and each and every one of his breaths was strained. Aladdin's heart broke seeing him like this. His son was, normally, a bright grin of mischief, Rajah cuddled at his side, dressed in billowy pants and an open vest with gold bangles on his wrists as he ran barefoot—because, for some reason he hated shoes and refused to wear them, no matter how many times he stepped on something that ended up injuring him—across the rooftops off their city. During formal events, he'd slouch on the small throne beside Jasmine's, usually propping one foot up on the armrest and balancing his head on his open palm, his crown haphazard on his thick, dark hair.

Yet now, he'd been stripped to his underwear, his gold adornments removed, and his skin was too pale, and his body trembled and shook, and Rajah could not even get close without causing Ali immense discomfort due to the heat of his furry body., Immediately, Jasmine dropped to her knees beside the bed, clasping at Ali's hand, gasping as she did so. No doubt, his skin burned far too hot.

"You hang in there, Ali," he said, reaching down to change the cloth of his son's brow. "Focus on keeping up your strength. Leave the rest to us."

"I will," he whispered. Nodding, he clenched his eyes shut, grasping at his abdomen as he scrunched up his face. Then, peace slipped over him and he stilled, the soft rise and fall of his chest being the only sign that he was still alive.

Aladdin squeezed his wife's shoulder as she looked up at him, and he felt the same way she looked. Helpless. There was nothing they could do, not right now, at least. For the longest time, the two of them remained like that as Ali slept, when finally Aladdin heard someone clear their throat from the corner of the room.

"Aah, yes," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Jasmine, you remember Princess Aquaria? She's the, ahem—"

"Floozy princess your son is going to marry," Aquaria pointed out with a brief nod. "Nice to see you again as well, Sultanah Jasmine."

* * *

The night air was pure bliss upon his sweat-drenched skin. His body hurt from head-to-toe, but the ache in his limbs and pelvis was nothing compared to the burning. It was as though his blood was being boiled in his veins, only instead of turning to vapour as time passed, it only grew hotter. Worse still, in his mind, was the humiliation of being an invalid, unable to care for himself and relying on his parents and lover for everything.

The bed dipped and he turned his head, closing his eyes at the dull throbbing in his temples. A minute later, something deliciously cool was placed upon his brow, and when he opened his eyes he saw that it was Aquaria changing his cloth.

She started upon catching sight of his eyes, reaching out to run an icy-hand against his cheek.

"I didn't think you were awake," she said, and he could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

"I can't sleep," he whispered, glancing up at her, feeling too weak to move. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand, to feel her cheek against his palm, to kiss her, but simply shifting a little closer to her left him utterly spent. "I hurt, and the syrup the healer gave me makes me drowsy, but I'm sticky and uncomfortable and I need to wash because I feel disgusting but I'm not about to ask one of my parents to bathe me as if I'm a bloody child and I—"

"I know," she said, a wan smile on her face. "You hate being sick."

"I'm not sick," he said, taking a deep breath. "I'm dying." He forced a smile to his face at the horrified expression on her face. "Don't look at me like, 'Ria, I'm not an idiot. This illness isn't normal."

"I don't give you my permission to die," she said. "And if you weren't so sick, I'd slap you for that. You listen to me, Ali, you're going to live, because you don't get to die and leave me behind, you got that?"

"You sound so certain that it almost makes me believe it," he said, feeling his lips curl into a smile despite the pain. This was what he loved about her. Aquaria may come from the sea, but there was a fire in her, a blazing inferno that he'd once found utterly terrifying when he'd been a young boy forced to share his toys whenever her parents visited Agrabah. And, then, somehow, that fear had turned to friendship, and that friendship had turned to the two of them falling into his bed after an evening of drinking too much wine. And, somewhere along that road, when they'd still been friends—just friends who occasionally slept together—he'd fallen in love with her.

Or, as she always reminded him, he'd fallen head over heels… quite literally, if he was being honest, remembering the bruises he'd had after tumbling down those stairs and landing on her during his one visit to her father's palace in Aquitania.

"I'm certain because I believe it," she corrected him. "This is not how our story ends, Ali, not by a long shot. Don't you remember how it goes?"

"You always hated those stories," he pointed out. "You said fairy tales were nothing but stereotypical crock, and then you flung a blowfish at me."

"That's before I found my fairy tale," she replied. Rising from the bed, she raised an eyebrow. "So, can you manage me helping you to the tub, or would you prefer a sponge bath?"

"What? Aquaria, I just said—"

"I don't care. You smell." She winked as he groaned, slowly sliding across the bed and letting her hook her arms around him. His legs wobbled under him as they walked across his bedroom, eventually slipping behind a wooden screen and entering his bathroom. She was stronger than she looked, being a mermaid, and as she helped him climb into the tub, he wasn't quite certain what he'd ever done to deserve her.

"I'm going to fill the tub with water, and then I'm going to give you a few minutes to take off your briefs and relax while I go change your sheets," she said, running her hand along the rim of the stone tub. Almost at once, fresh-water began to well from her fingertips, warm and soothing against his body. "Then, I'm coming back to bathe you."

"I can manage," he said, gritting his teeth, if only a little. He was not helpless. Reaching for his sponge, he groaned as a fresh wave of pain rolled through him, and he doubled over, clutching at his chest. Water splashed around him as the tub filled, and he managed to glare at her with a defeated sigh.

"Yes, I'm sure you can, Ali." She snorted. "Look, I get that you're proud. Believe me, I love that about you. But, right now, you need me, and I'm here for you. How does it go? In sickness and in health and all the rest?"

"We aren't married yet," he grumbled.

"What's marriage but a scrap of paper and a joint treasury?" she asked, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. "Married. Not married. It doesn't change how I feel about you, does it?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't," he said, feeling the anger fade away as she nodded and left the bathroom.

She had a point. She always had a point, and Caspian, her brother, was quite fond of saying it was good that his sister had the good sense she did, or Ali would be in for a mistake-prone life indeed. Whilst he thought there was an exaggeration there, he couldn't deny that she had a way of getting him to do things that he usually wouldn't do, even if they were for his own good.

Aquaria walked back into the room with her hands filled with his bundled sheets, and she tossed them into his hamper. Making her way to the side of the tub, she reached for the soap and sponge. Pausing, she leaned in to kiss his temple.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said, her voice soft. "I'm scared, Ali. I'm terrified, okay, that I might lose you."

"Hey," he said weakly, turning to face her, ignoring the spasm which ran through his back. "What did you just say? That isn't how our story is going to end."

* * *

Far away from the bleeding city of Agrabah, Odile paced within the confines of the narrow cave she'd made into her lair. Located in the desolate wasteland that was the southernmost plains of the desert, there was little that could trouble her here, let alone the realm's feeble rulers. Inside, the cave was sparse and uncomfortable, the only furnishings being a rickety cot set in the corner, several rusted cages, and a makeshift table she'd fashioned out of a large boulder. It was a far cry from the ruinous wonder of Old Oloria, the abandoned city of Swan Lake that had been her home for the past decade, but it would have to do.

The hour of her revenge was close at hand, and her new master had promised her the hearts of the two queens who had wronged her the most. They were still safe, for the moment, for Queen Elsa and Queen Ariel were still out of the reach of her claws, but the day would come when she would feel their blood trickling between his fingers. She would fry their hearts with onions and red peppers, and if her master permitted, she would feed them to their sons.

Outside, her ravens circled the sky, keeping a beady-eyed vigil for any who dared approach. Closing her eyes for a moment to look through theirs, all she saw were the ever-shifting sands and rough-hewn stones, with no life as far as the eye could see. The ravens were hungry, she realized as she slipped out of their skins and back into her own, and there was no carrion within reach. They had already consumed it all.

No matter. Soon, some of her feathered pets would die from either starvation or exhaustion, whichever took them first, and then the others could feast.

Confident that there would be no distractions, she reached for the black lamp set upon the table. It was sleek and darkly beautiful, and she wondered if she could keep it as a souvenir when all was said and done. Rubbing her palm against the metal, she set it down as it began to rattle in her grasp.

Red smoke poured from the spout as the genie emerged, red and fiery, with molten eyes and hair of darkest coal. For the third time since she had stolen the lamp from the castle vaults, Jafar loomed over her, filling the small cave, his head nearly scraping against the stone ceiling.

"Aaah, Odile." He sneered, reaching up to stroke his goatee. "I trust that all is going according to the plan?"

"Indeed," she replied, walking up to him, her skirt of black feathers rustling with each step she took. "My ravens have brought me word from Agrabah. Frogs have descended upon the city, hundreds and thousands of them, and the rivers run red despite the best efforts of the Sultan.

"The Sultan." Jafar spat. "You mean the street rat, Aladdin. It is good that he is still alive. I owe him a great deal of pain."

"And you will pay that debt," she said, reaching up to grasp at his smooth skin, her nails dark against his blood-red skin. "For my third wish, Jafar, I wish that you were no longer a genie."

Jafar's eyes widened in alarm, his displeased countenance fading as he snapped his finger. The cave filled with thick smoke, filling her mouth and nose with soot, and there was a noise like thunder. It swirled, rattling the cages, and coalesced into a single black tornado. A shape formed within, and Jafar stepped out, dressed in dark robes and clasping a serpent-headed staff. The lamp fell to the ground, hollow and useless, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

Fury glinting in his eyes, he lashed out with his staff. It hit her cheek with a dull crack, breaking bone and sending her sprawling to her ground. With a cry, she spat out a tooth and a mouthful of blood, raising a hand to her cheek and concentrating on her magic, wincing as the bone began to stitch itself back into place beneath her skin.

"You stupid bitch," he said. "You were to free me from the lamp, not change me back into a sorcerer." Scowling, he raised his staff, ready to hit her again.

"There has been a change of plans," she retorted, flinging out an arm. A shockwave burst from her palm, slamming into his gut and sending him sprawling as she climbed to her feet. "My master doesn't think he can trust you with that kind of power."

"Cease your parlor tricks," he snapped, thrusting out his staff. A smoky serpent burst up out of the floor and curled around her ankles, its fangs bared and dripping as it coiled around her. A scarab landed on her throat, its razor-sharp teeth digging into her pale skin, and she glared, unable to move lest the creatures attacked.

Then, the air grew chill, and she shuddered as both serpent and scarab wilted to ash. By the light of the single candle burning beside her bed, a shadowed silhouette loomed across the wall, growing larger. She gasped and took a step back. It was too soon… he was not due to show up here for another week at the least. Fear gripped her as she dropped to her knees, bowing at the shadow.

"Whatever are you doing, you stupid girl?" asked Jafar, striding over to her only to be flung back as the shadows burst forth from her master's shadow, pinning the genie-turned-sorcerer against the wall.

"Now, now, Jafar," said her master in a silky-smooth voice, stepping out of the shadow. He held a large scythe in his hands, and his very presence sent terror reeling through her veins. This man… this being that she had thrown her lot in with… he was the most powerful thing she had ever set eyes upon, for he was the very essence of fear made flesh.

"It's very rude of you to go about attacking my servants after the lengths I've gone to see you freed," he continued, brushing the blade of his scythe against Jafar's throat. The sorcerer swallowed, a trickle of sweat running down his brow as he was released from the shadow's grasp. Falling to the ground in a heap, Jafar spat onto the ground.

"Well, it's about time that we finally meet," said Jafar through gritted teeth. "I do not appreciate silent partners, shall we say."

"My good man, whoever said anything about a partnership?" Her master smirked, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. His skin was whiter than bone, and his eyes were cruel, so very, very cruel. "You work for me, and if you are unwilling to accept that, I can see that you are put pack into that lamp, and then I shall hurl it into the deepest recesses of space."

"Pah." Jafar sounded livid, reaching for his staff. With the barest of glances from her master, it shattered into a thousand pieces, and Odile had to leap behind her table to keep from being impaled by the shrapnel.

"Cease your parlor tricks, child," said her master. His eyes glinted as he grew in size, his nails growing to claws, his teeth lengthening to fangs. "Once upon a time, you wished to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world. The wish was granted. It is a shame, then, that I am not of this world… in fact, I am so old that I remember when it was little more than a smattering of dust circling about in an empty void."

Then, as quickly as he had revealed his true self, he returned to normal, a smug leer upon his face. "Now that I have made myself clear, I think it is past time that you made your return known. Tell me, Jafar, what do you know of the Hollow Ones? I'm quite fond of them myself, and I know that Odile likes them very much, don't you, my dear?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and took another step back. If Jafar was foolish enough to try anything, she wanted to be as close to the exit as possible to escape whatever her master had planned for insubordination. He had flogged her once, when she had failed in one of his tasks, and she could still feel the agony of the smoke-like whip that cut deeper than any substance of this world. Each lash had done more than scar her body… it had tormented her very soul, leaching every last bit of joy and happiness from her until she was ready to beg for death.

He was not a man… or being, as it were, to be crossed.

"They are passable tools," Jafar said, finally breaking the silence. "Clumsy and loutish, in my opinion, but better than most."

"I am so glad you like them, Jafar," said her master, his teeth flashing as he began to fade into the shadows. "I have a small army of them gathered along the Imperium's Great Wall. Would you be so kind as to lead them?"

"There is a council member in the Imperium," said Odile, thinking that somebody should point this out before an attack was made. What they were currently doing in Agrabah was one thing, for it was hard for the council to battle that which hid in the shadows. Invading one of the council's member kingdoms, on the other hand…

"The Imperium is on the far side of the world. By the time the council even gets word of the attack, Fa Mulan and Li Shang will both be dead," said her master, raising a warning finger in her direction. "That is if Jafar is up to the task."

"I have no love for that wretched council," replied the sorcerer. "I will see it done, so long as we both understand that Aladdin dies by my hand… and that Jasmine lives just long enough to see it."

"That can be arranged," replied her master as the shadows claimed him.

Shuddering, Odile stepped outside the cave, anxious to dispel the sensation he always carried with him. The air was cool, but suddenly, she became aware of a sharp buzzing in her ear. Something stung at her arm, and she slapped down hard to get rid of it, but just as she did so, there was a second sting, this time on the back of her neck.

"Biting insects," she said, smirking as she slipped back into the cave, waving her hand to seal the entrance behind her. The third plague had come.

* * *

The hour was late as Aladdin paced his wife's study, exhaustion weighing heavy on his eyelids. He'd woken before the dawn and spent the morning trying to establish some semblance of order within Agrabah, and he'd spent the rest of the day pouring over the scrolls and books Jasmine had pulled from the castle library until his eyes felt ready to bleed. Not for the first time, he cursed his weakness. Unlike Jasmine, he had only learned to read when he was well into his twenties, and try as he might, he knew that there were children in his city who could read and understand some of these texts faster than he could.

Jasmine was asleep at her desk, her cheek pressed against the page of a book bigger than Rajah's head. She had made much more headway than he had, but when glancing over her theories, he had been forced to agree that none of them really made sense. The closest they had come to finding an answer was a single line on the last page of a book so old that it was barely legible, claiming that all the water within Agrabah turning to blood was the first of ten plagues.

Now, if Aladdin had remembered to commission those restorers a decade or two ago, one or two of these books might have actually come in useful during their frantic search for answers. He sighed. Ruling and having such responsibilities had never been his forté, and he doubted they ever would be. Only, this time, it seemed the cost of his ineffectualness was much steeper than ordering too much food for a banquet.

As he paced, the room began to cool, and he shivered. The fire spluttered in the hearth, and he frowned as Jasmine's breath misted across the surface of the book. Something was wrong, he realized as he grasped his wife's shoulder and shook her to rouse her. She shifted, groaning as she came too. Something was very wrong indeed.

The shadows in the corners of the rooms deepened as the lanterns burned out, and the fire dimmed to a faintly flickering whisper as _something_ stepped out of the shadows. Alabaster pale and clothed in robes that seemed to move, a monstrosity of a man took a seat at the desk across from them, and he grinned to reveal two rows of jagged teeth.

"Good evening, Sultanah Jasmine. Sultan Aladdin," said the shadowed man, his eyes glinting as he steepled his fingers in front of him. "I trust that you are well?"

Aladdin's hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he moved to stand in front of his wife, keeping a firm eye on the shadow-man-thing that had wandered into his study. He had faced worse things in the past, but try as he might, he could not shake the tension building on his shoulders, or the chill which ran down his spine whenever he made eye contact with it.

"You have us at a disadvantage," said Jasmine, and if she was afraid, she did not show it. "You know our names, but we do not know yours." In that moment, she was not just his wife, but instead the Sultanah of Agrabah in all her regal glory. A thousand men had dared to challenge her whilst she sat the throne and a thousand men had been cut to shreds by her words alone. Confidence built in Aladdin as he felt her fingers curl around his wrist. Whatever this was, they would take care of it as they always did: together.

"I confess, I find it somewhat tiring to remember all the names that your kind have given me over the centuries. But, I am not a stranger. You both remember me, don't you?" He leered, leaning close.

It took everything Aladdin had to not recoil at the memories which assailed him. Beside him, Jasmine shuddered, her fingers tightening around his wrist until he was certain she'd snap his bones. It didn't matter. In that moment, he was a child again, no older than three, and his mother was still alive. His father, Cassim, had just left Agrabah. Every bump in the night had rattled Aladdin, every growl from underneath his bed… but it had faded when he'd hurry to his mother's arms… and then she'd died, and there was nothing to keep the monsters away.

He shook himself, pinching Jasmine as he did so. Illusions. He didn't know what his wife had seen that left her so pale-faced and jittery, but he would wager it was similar to what he'd witnessed. They were illusions, though, and neither of them had much to fear from that which didn't exist. This… fiend would not scare them.

"Your point is made," said Aladdin through clenched teeth. "Why have you come here?"

"To help you, of course," replied the shadowed man with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "After all, you sent for this miserable specimen." With a snap of his fingers, the shadows bloomed and a dozen tendrils burst forth, wrapped around something as though they were a cocoon. The shifted and Aladdin gasped.

Trapped by the tentacles of shadow was Genie, his eyes wide yet serious, and Jasmine sucked in a deep breath of alarm. Genie was the most powerful being in all of Agrabah, and for him to have been taken captive in such a manner… it did not bode well. Aladdin tightened his grip on his sword, for the first time wondering if the weapon would even harm the shadowed-man. No, it would have too. Even Jafar had bled when stabbed.

"As I was saying," said the shadowed man. "I will put an end to that which plagues your city… and indeed, your own household, and all I ask in return is that you two become…" Teeth flashed in the dim light as the man stretched out a hand. "Become Faceless. Release your hope. Is that truly so much to ask for."

"Perhaps," said Aladdin, glancing at Jasmine. His wife returned his gaze with a worried look, and she gave him a minute shake of her head. Had he not been married to her all these years, he would have missed it entirely. Not that he needed her to tell him not to accept this deal. He was well aware of what it meant to become a Faceless, to relinquish your happy ending and become a servant of the shadows, and it did not bode well that their visitor wanted it for them.

But, they could not panic, not now. Aladdin kept his back straight as he stared down the shadowed man. If his son's safety was guaranteed, he'd leap at the deal, but he was not a youngster anymore. He'd had his fair share of dealings with magic and the deals that it brought along, and he knew full well that nothing was certain without a signed contract blessed by the Godmother herself.

"Perhaps, as a show of good faith that you mean us no harm, you could release our friend?" asked Jasmine, gesturing at Genie. "It might be easier to consider what you ask without having to look at him in such pain."

"I see no harm in letting him be miserable alongside the rest of you," said the shadowed man, and with a snap of his pale, bony fingers, the tentacles binding Genie relaxed and slithered into the corners of the room. Falling to the ground, Genie gasped, blue blood leaking from a dozen cuts along his body, but he shook his head in Aladdin's direction, warning him not to come near just yet.

"Your offer is a somewhat generous one," said Jasmine, her voice tight, "But I think the situation is not quite so hopeless that we will accept your deal." Glancing at Aladdin for confirmation, she ran a hand along his arm. He nodded.

"You are free to return in a few days," said Aladdin, knowing that they may very well need this as an escape route for Ali if they were unable to find another means of saving Agrabah. "Right now, we still have hope."

"Very well," said the shadowed man, getting to his feet. "You do not have long. Seven plagues are all that remains, and I guarantee that you will not enjoy the tenth." Without another word, he faded into the shadows, leaving the three of them alone in the room.

"Well, would you look at that." Genie coughed. "The three of us together, the city in mortal peril, us almost dying. Just like old times, isn't it?"

Aladdin sprang across the room to help his friend up off the ground, but Jasmine moved much slower. As he lifted Genie up, he turned to find her staring at them with narrowed eyes. There was a book in her hands, the pages creased and smudged.

"Ten plagues, Genie?" she asked, her voice cautious. "You know of what he speaks. Tell me, what is the tenth plague? Tell me."

"Come now, Jazz," said Genie, his voice strained. "We'll have this mess cleaned up before it even gets to that point."

Aladdin frowned. He knew that tone very well. "Genie, what is the final plague? For love of me and Jasmine, please, don't think that not telling us protects us. We need to know, Genie."

For a long moment, there was silence, and when Genie finally spoke, his voice sounded all but torn from his chest.

"The death of every firstborn son in the land."

* * *

 **A/N: I apologise for the delay in uploading a new chapter of EEA, and for the delay in the new The Lost Boy chapter. I underwent dental surgery on Monday morning for the extraction of all four wisdom teeth, and I've only recovered enough to post and write this morning. Hopefully, you all enjoy this chapter, which I finished this afternoon. **


	9. Silent Night

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 **Silent Night**

* * *

"Do you remember when we were about six and decided that it would be fantastic to run away from the castle and live in an igloo?" asked Cornelius, grinning at his cousin.

"We made it for about an hour before Uncle Kristoff found us and dragged us back to the castle. You were sick for a week, but Mother made us an igloo in the castle gardens to play in during the day once your nose had stopped running," replied Nick with a smile.

With Alyssa busy packing this afternoon—for her return to Amoré, she claimed, which was tomorrow evening—Cornelius found himself alone with Nick, and it had not taken them long to decide that it was past time they built an igloo. Sitting cross-legged in the large dome his cousin had created, Cornelius couldn't help but feel as though he'd been neglecting Nick since coming to Arendelle. When they were younger, it had always just been the two of them with Alyssa tagging along, and then something had changed along the way, and now it was almost as though Nick was the third-wheel, more often than not.

He sighed before brightening. Well, he was still in Arendelle for a week, and Alyssa would be leaving tomorrow. That would give him more than enough time to make things up with Nick, though, given that he was getting married in the early hours of the morning, it struck him that this was not how most people his age would spend the first days of a new marriage… Still, things had never been quite normal as far as Alyssa and he were concerned, and he doubted it would change once they were wedded and bedded.

But, no, he would have to shove all of that out of his mind for the moment. While his marriage was to be a rushed, clandestine affair to avoid King Adam's meddling, he could worry about it later. Right now, he was spending an afternoon with Nick, and he owed it to his cousin to keep his full attention firmly on the two of them hanging out.

"Are you done with your inner monologue?" asked Nick, an amused glint in his eye. "Don't worry, you weren't talking out loud."

"I just have a lot on my mind." Cornelius pouted as he leaned back against the icy wall, grateful for the small pile of blankets he'd stolen from the guest bedroom on his way down here. "And, what about you? Don't act like I haven't noticed you aren't all depressed anymore. Well, you're still mopey and broody, but it's not as bad as it usually is."

Nick chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Me? You're the one bouncing about the castle with a spring in your step these days."

"Yes, well, I just had sex for the first time. I have a right to have a spring in my step," retorted Cornelius, though he grinned at the way Nick scrunched up his features in disgust. "Oh, don't look at me like that, we used to talk about these things all the time when we were younger."

"About that, Cor." Nick's voice was suddenly nervous, and Cornelius fought the urge to roll his eyes. Well, it was about time his cousin confessed, not that it was much of a confession given that he already knew… unless Nick had picked up another secret since the last time Cornelius had visited Arendelle, that was.

Still, he knew, even if Nick didn't know he knew, and to be honest, Cornelius was quite certain that he'd been the first to know. But that, he reasoned, was a story for another day. Right now, he had to make sure things didn't spiral into awkwardness or the sudden return of Nick's blasted mood-swings.

"You're gay," said Cornelius, raising an eyebrow at his cousin. He wished he'd borrowed that contraption Alyssa called a camera, because the expression on Nick's face was priceless. Shock, surprise, curiosity, a touch of horror… they all swirled together. The hint of disbelief though, Cornelius could do without.

"How?" Nick spluttered.

"Well, do you remember that time you and I were in Agrabah because it was Ali's parents' twentieth wedding anniversary and I had that crush on one of the maids, and the one of the cooks, and Princess Sigrun? And you spent the entire visit with your eyes glued to Ali's abs?"

"I could have just been really shocked about their style of dress," Nick protested. "People don't go about baring their midriff in Arendelle."

"Oh, what about that one time you came to Corona and we went swimming at the seaside, and you had all those awkward, ahem…" He grinned, gesturing at Nick's crotch. His cousin's face was redder than Alyssa's hair, which was quite the achievement.

"There were girls on that beach as well, I'll have you know." Nick crossed his arms.

"Or, what about the time I came to visit. We got a bit drunk and we were talking girls? And, I think you had a bit more wine than me since you sort of told me, and then you cried and drank more wine, and then you made me promise not to tell anyone before passing out?"

"Right, that one is new," said Nick, a mortified expression on his face. "Did I really?"

"You did. It was quite the performance, really. I had to tie you down with a bedsheet at one point because you'd decided to go flying, and you'd knocked over half the things in your room already and probably given yourself a concussion considering how many times you flew into a wall."

"Right, now I know you're lying," said Nick. "I hate flying and would never do it for fun."

"Well, drunk you seems to love it. Kicked off your shoes as soon as the first bottle had been drained and off you went." Cornelius wore a smug grin as he watched his red-faced cousin try to come up with some defence for his actions. There were none, to be honest, but Nick was a chatty drunk, and he'd said all sorts of interesting things that night. Not that Cornelius was the type to have dirt on people… but he supposed his cousin would find a nice dude someday, and it would be his job to share all the embarrassing stories with whomever the dude was.

"So, you knew all this time, and you said nothing?" said Nick, after a while, leaning back against a pile of snow with a smile on his face. "Doesn't seem like you at all, chatterbox."

"I mean, I could see you were pretty torn up about it and stuff, so I didn't really want to bring it up until you were actually aware you'd… hmmm, how do they say it? Come out of the closet! That's it." Cornelius turned to look at Nick with an honest grin on his lips and a teasing glint in his eyes as he spoke. "And, you being into guys meant there were more ladies for me, so it worked out just fine."

"As if there was any girl other than Alyssa for you," Nick pointed out, tossing a snowball at him.

"There could have been. I don't know." Cornelius sighed, wiping the snow out of his hair. "Marriage, hey. It's a lot sooner than I expected, but I can't say I'm not happy." That was the truth of the matter, when he really considered it. He was happy to marry Alyssa, despite not being happy about the circumstances in which he was to wed. Still, he was a prince of legal age, sound mind, and sound body, and if this was what it took to make sure he'd be able to love her for the rest of his days, then a less than ideal wedding was a small price to pay.

"It's bloody mad is what it is," replied Nick. "Look, I know King Adam is pushing the whole Christopher thing, but Chris really isn't that bad. If you write to him and explain the situation, he'll delay on his end… and it won't be long, but it might be enough so that you two don't have to marry in a quiet room in my castle with my acting as officiant. I'd rather be the best man, to be honest."

"You will be," Cornelius replied, closing his eyes. It all sounded so simple when Nick said it out loud, but it was anything but. Christopher wasn't the nightmare his parents and sister were, but Snow White was a devil of a woman, and if she put her mind to something, Christopher would be dragged down the aisle the same as Alyssa, both of them kicking and screaming while a minister forced the vows from their throats. Time, in fact, was the one thing that Alyssa and he did not have, and if they did not act now, they may never get the chance.

"One day, Nick, when things calm down, and we don't have some demonic force trying to kill us all—don't roll your eyes, you've heard the same things I have. You know why our parents convened the council." Cornelius took a deep breath, folding his hands behind his head. "And, when Alyssa and I are already, albeit secretly, married, we can still have the biggest wedding in all of Corona, and you can be the best-man, get drunk, fly up into the air, and give a nice speech that embarasses everyone in attendance."

There was silence for what felt like a long time after he finished speaking. Nick was playing with a snowball, staring at the ceiling of their igloo. Cornelius turned away, pulling the blankets tighter around him, not for the first time wondering how his cousin could endure this cold in a sleeveless shirt.

"Life really is complicated, isn't it?" asked Nick, breaking the silence.

"I suppose it is," replied Cornelius, frowning. "Want to discuss something less depressing?"

"Sure, I'll bite."

"Well, you know about me and Alyssa, and I was wondering about you, actually? Have you ever? You know? Done anything?" There. The future may be hard to picture, but teasing his cousin with uncomfortable questions was something that would never get old. Glancing to the left, Cornelius grinned when he saw how red Nick had gone.

"Well, if you must know, I haven't really done anything. I, errr, almost kissed a guy once, but I ran off before I could go through with it. For the best, really. He was… a lot older than me, worked for one of my best friends, and he'd had far too much to drink that night."

"You don't mean…" Cornelius flushed as he puzzled out what Nick was saying. That had been three years ago, meaning he'd been fourteen, and Nick had been thirteen. The royal debutanté ball of Amoré, thrown in honour of Princess Alyssa, one of Nick's best friends and Cornelius' future wife… the entire castle had been in their cups, save for the youngsters, and it was not hard to imagine Nick plucking up his courage to try and get a first kiss… but if it was who Cornelius thought it was… well, eight years was quite the age-gap.

"Please don't," said Nick, covering his face with his hands. "Like I said, he was really drunk and probably didn't even know it was me, and you'd been boasting about having your first kiss with Princess Sigrun, and we'd just caught Ali and Aquaria kissing on the balcony, and I didn't want to be the only one who hadn't kissed anyone, okay."

"Still, Nick, ewww," said Cornelius, reaching out to punch his cousin in the shoulder. "You couldn't have found someone your own age?"

"Chip Potts wasn't that old," groaned Nick. "Really, if you squinted, he could have passed for seventeen back then."

"Well, it's good that nothing happened," said Cornelius, puffing out his chest. "I'd have to beat him up to defend your virtue from that rapscallion, and Alyssa might take offense to me beating up one of her chefs."

He shuddered as a fine trickle of snow crawled down the back of his shirt, and he whirled to glare at his cousin. Nick, for his part, didn't seem to be too put out, given that the second Cornelius turned, his cousin had smacked him in the face with a snowball.

"Fine, I deserved that," he said, shivering. "Though, errr, I have to ask this one. Did you ever, you know, have a thing for me?"

"Oh, Godmother, Cor, that's gross." Nick spluttered, and Cornelius had to try to keep from looking offended. Well, what was wrong with him? Nothing. Clearly, Nick just had very poor taste.

Another snowball to his face roused him from his thoughts

"Cor, you're my cousin and my best friend," Nick reminded him. closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair. "I may like, you know, guys, but I sort of just always just saw you as the brother I never had."

"Yeah," said Cornelius, not needing to think about it. Leaning over to land a good-natured punch on his cousin's shoulder, he added. "Same here."

* * *

Rapunzel glanced over her shoulder as she made her way through the castle, the knowledge that this was her last chance to act weighing heavy on her mind. A deal was a deal, and if she did not fulfil her end of the bargain by midnight, everything she had sacrificed would have been for nought. Not for the first time, she faltered, wondering if this was truly the only way. Then, determination gripped her as it always did during her moments of doubt, and she continued on her way.

All she did, she did for her son. If this made her a traitor… if this one day would cost her the crown of Corona, then so be it. Cornelius had always been more important to her than a throne.

She did not like to think of the incident that had led her to where she was, but as she snuck up the narrow staircase, the memories swarmed her, unwanted and unbidden, but there all the same. There had been an accident, and her son's barge had gone under within minutes. She had been on the shore at the time. Screaming… there had been screaming and panic as she'd dove into the water, and the time it had taken her to find Cornelius amidst the wreckage had been the longest of her life.

When she had pulled him to shore, he had been clammy and cold, so cold. She shuddered. A deal was a deal. Her son was alive again, and that was all that mattered. There had been no firstborn for her to trade, however, but all _he'd_ wanted was a favour in return. Now, it was time to pay the piper, and when tomorrow came and the deed had been done, she would sleep much easier.

Eventually, she reached her destination. Taking a deep breath before opening the door, she quickly glanced around to make sure it was empty. It was, but who knew how long it would be until the Charmings were done with dinner and made their way to finish packing. No, she'd have to be swift.

Heading for the dresser, she extricated a dagger from her sleeve and dug the blade into the slight crevice between the mirror and the wood. As carefully as she could, she pried the mirror out of its frame, keeping her palm flush against the smooth glass to keep it from falling. If it cracked, there would be seven years of bad luck for her that she absolutely did not need, not to mention the fact that she'd likely be caught trying to clean up all the shards.

Finally, she tucked away the mirror into her handbag and extricated another mirror, equally as nondescript. Without hesitation, she placed it in the frame and forced it into place, letting the charm take effect and stick it there. It was a curious thing, the mirror that had been given to her to place within Arendelle, but the broker of her deal had been specific. For the spell upon it to activate, she needed to place it in a room and say the words. Then, should Snow White sleep in that room, the mirror would awaken from its long dormancy.

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall," she whispered, sliding her dagger back into its hidden sheathe. "Who's hair shines the brightest of them all?"

Her reflection rippled but remained the same, and she nodded in satisfaction before slipping out of the room. The words had been said, and the mirror was very close to remembering who it was. Now, all it needed was for Snow to fall asleep and do something useful for once in her life. At the very least, Rapunzel knew her part in all of this was done. The piper had been paid. A passage into Arendelle had been created.

As she slipped out of the room and down the stairs, she felt a twinge of apprehension. There were a great many things she could have done differently, perhaps, but only one would guarantee there was no way for the deal broker to consider their agreement broken. She had done the only thing she could and, yes, her cousins and nephew may now be in some degree of danger… but she could not let herself dwell on that. If it came down to it, if she had to choose between Cornelius and anyone else, then there was no competition, however vile her actions may have to be.

As she walked, she felt a gentle prickling along her shoulder. Biting her lip, she paused, reaching for the hilt of her dagger as she steadied herself against a nearby balustrade. Not turning, she frowned at the footsteps. They were light as raindrops and accompanied by the wheezing breaths which haunted her dreams.

"Rumpelstiltskin, what brings you to Arendelle?" she asked, not daring to turn around and meet his eye. "My part of the agreement has been completed. We have nothing more to say to each other."

"Well, Dearie, that may be so, but can an old friend not pop by with a friendly warning?" asked Rumpelstiltskin, and she could just imagine the impish leer on his twisted face.

"A warning?" She scoffed. "You don't do warnings. If we knew what was coming, it would cut into your business, and you'd never allow something like that."

"Oh, you think you have me pegged, don't you, Dearie?" He chortled, his lips smacking together as he scraped his nails along the wall. "Thing is, dark days are coming, and I'll have no shortage of clients no matter which way the cards fall. On the other hand, I'm a very long-lived man, and I intend to live just as long if not longer."

"So, you're thinking long-term," she replied, understanding dawning. What a lecherous creature he was, she thought, rolling her eyes. He preyed on misfortune, and though it had been his hand that had saved Cornelius from drowning… no, she had to be honest, it had been his hand that had brought Cornelius back after her son had drowned, he was no ally of hers or the council's. She doubted if even the Godmother would tolerate his presence, warped and twisted as he was.

He was intelligent, though, and more powerful than he let on. If he wished to warn her, then she'd accept the warning with a grain of salt, and then she'd have a long think as to how it would benefit him to assist the council.

"Now you're catching on, Dearie," said Rumpelstiltskin. "I'll tell you what. You're jumpy, and I wouldn't want the lovely Queen Elsa to catch me lurking about her castle. I shall visit you in Corona within the fortnight. Do be a dear and be ready for my arrival."

Just as quickly as he'd arrived, he vanished. Rapunzel let out a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding before drawing herself to her full height and, holding her head high, continued her walk to the dining hall.

* * *

When Alyssa Rose walked into his bedroom with a determined glint in her eyes, Morgan was not quite sure how to react. For one, she was possibly the last person he expected to waltz in to see him… actually, given that Margaret Charming and Aurelia Rêvere were still in residence, he'd have to amend that statement. At least he was friendly enough with Alyssa, though he was quite certain they were not quite at the level of friendship required to casually pop into each other's rooms.

"You," she said, pointing at him. "I need your assistance."

"I figured as much," he replied, rolling his eyes at her. Setting down the book he'd been reading, he gave her his full attention. At the very least, this promised to be somewhat entertaining.

"First, can you keep a secret?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Depends on the secret," he replied in an even tone.

"Fine." She snorted, sitting down at his dresser. Glancing back to make sure his door was shut, she folded her arms and looked at him. "You tell me a secret of yours at the same time I tell you mine. That way, neither of us can spill the beans."

"Right," said Morgan slowly, not quite understanding her thought pattern. She didn't know him all that well, and he could very easily say just about anything that wasn't in the least bit incriminating. But, then again, he recognized the emotion in her voice, though it wasn't one he often heard without being accompanied by fear.

Desperation. The princess of Amoré, it seemed, was quite desperate in regards to needing his assistance with… well, whatever it was she needed. Probably something magic related, if he was being to hazard a guess. He wasn't the best at magic, but he reckoned he was much better than Cornelius and Nicholas, both of whom had rather specialised magical gifts.

Counting down from three, she kept her eyes firmly on his, and they both spoke at the same time.

"I'm getting married to Cornelius."

"I like guys."

Morgan recoiled slightly at her news. What he'd said was largely irrelevant, given that he liked girls as well, and that he wasn't really fussed about who knew about his proclivities. And, more often than not, it depended on the guy. Alyssa may enjoy her blue eyes and blond hair, but Morgan's tastes ranged elsewhere… to white hair and dimples, but that was beside the point. Still, it seemed to strike her as something secret-worthy. Her news, on the other hand, was a bit of a bombshell, especially given he'd overheard Queen Belle arguing with King Adam just that morning about Alyssa being betrothed to a Charming. If she was marrying someone else, it was clear that she was doing so in secret and in a hurry. Actually, given that it was a Charming, he didn't blame the poor girl for trying to escape her fate.

"So, how do I fit into this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I need you to do some magical mumbo-jumbo on my marriage license after Cor and I sign it, you know, just to make sure it's magically binding and only death can do us part," she said, and just like that, everything fell into place.

They needed his help to make sure that their _brilliant_ plan wasn't thwarted by a technicality or a forced annulment. Well, binding was rather simple. Limited though his magic was, he could definitely bind a contract. Then, something occurred to him. When they'd swapped secrets, she'd looked surprised at his… but there was also something in her expression, as if she'd expected him to say something else.

Suddenly curious, he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Alyssa," he said, "What exactly did you think I was going to say earlier?"

"Nothing," she replied quickly, too quickly. "So you like guys. Big deal. Back to my problem."

"Be honest and I'll consider helping you out."

"Fine," said Alyssa, breathing a weary sigh. "I thought you were going to tell me who your father is. I know, mind you, but I thought that's what you were going to share."

Morgan remained silent, raising an eyebrow, even as he felt a hand tighten across his chest. Save for himself, his mother, his half-siblings, his father, and his father's wife, nobody knew who his father was, and that was how he liked to keep it. But, he reasoned, Alyssa would not have mentioned knowing if she didn't know, and she wouldn't think it a secret worth keeping unless she knew exactly who it was.

His head hurt, and he gave her a tight nod. "How?" he asked finally, pursing his lips.

"You could say that I'm rather beastly," she said with a wan smile. "In fact, I can hear Princess Anna talking to Queen Elsa right now… they're a floor above us and three rooms to the left, so I'm not getting the whole conversation, but I can hear enough."

"I also have an incredible sense of smell," she added, her eyes flashing as she surveyed him. "It's hard to tell, though, I'll give you that. Had Aurelia and you not been standing right next to each other the day I met you, I'd have never been able to tell, let alone catch your father's scent under the stench of dragon."

Well, that was one way of finding things out. Morgan gaped like a fish, unsure of how exactly to respond to the fact that Alyssa had, like a bloodhound, sniffed at him enough to discern his heritage. Well, like he'd told Aurelia, even if the truth came out, he wouldn't lose anything.

"Why didn't you tell us you were a prince of Somnia?" asked Alyssa, finally breaking the thick silence.

"Prince?" Morgan snorted. "I'm a king's unrecognized bastard, and the only thing my father ever got me was this."

Reaching for the bracelet he always wore at his wrist, his fingertips glowed green. There was a soft click, and a small hatch slid open. Carefully, very carefully, he drew out the sewing needle he kept concealed within, the point stuck into a tiny bit of rubber to prevent any stray accidents. Holding it to Alyssa's face, he sneered.

"He knew I existed, that much was clear. I don't know how. Mother isn't exactly the type to have sent a fruit basket with a baby picture after I hatched. But, when I was ten, I got a letter. Only, the letter wasn't for me. This needle was stuck inside the envelope in such a way that whoever, especially a child, would almost certainly prick his finger on it when opening it."

"That needle…" Alyssa's voice was soft, her eyes wide, as if all her theories had just been blown out of the water by a canon. Well, they had. Morgan scoffed. Perhaps this would teach her not to assume in the future.

"I wouldn't touch it if I were you. It's still cursed." Morgan grimaced as he slid it back into his bracelet, sealing the hatch with magic afterwards. "Mother realized the trap and stopped me in time, but I've kept it as a reminder of what King Philip thinks of me."

"I had no idea," she said, reaching out to run a comforting hand down his arm. "I'm sorry."

"It is what it is," he replied with a shrug. "I'll bind your wedding contract. On one condition. What we just spoke about in this room never leaves this room, you hear me?"

She nodded, looking as though she wanted to say more and, without a word, slipped out the the door.

* * *

Everything seemed to be changing, and Nick wasn't quite sure how he felt about it just yet. His best friends would be tying the knot in a few hours, the secret he'd been battling with for all these years had finally seen the light of the day, and there was a war on the horizon. It was difficult to reconcile all that happened and all that was happening, and it was keeping him up.

It was past midnight as he padded through the castle, barefoot and dressed in his pyjamas. At first, he'd simply wanted to visit the kitchens and help himself to a glass of milk, but he'd been distracted on the way down. When the castle was quiet and cold, it gave him time to think, and the long walks through the corridors always helped him sleep more than anything else could.

If the gardens were empty, he'd likely glide up to the highest bough of his favourite tree… no, he needed his staff to fly, and he wasn't quite feeling up to climbing right now. Well, there was a bench beside the frozen pond, and he could pass the time by animating a few snowmen and letting them amuse him until the morning came. It wasn't as though he was going to get much sleep tonight, anyway.

As he walked out into the gardens, a voice broke him from his thoughts. Looking up, he frowned as he caught sight of Morgan, huddled under his jacket, pacing beneath his favourite tree.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Nick with a smile. Raising a hand, he shifted the snowdrifts around to block out the worst of the bitingly-cold wind before walking up to his friend. The snow was soft beneath his feet but, as usual, he didn't feel the cold. If anything, it felt as warm as if he had just slipped on a pair of socks.

"Thanks," said Morgan, gesturing at the snow drifts. "I couldn't sleep."

"In which case, we really have to stop meeting like this," said Nick. Taking a seat on the bench, he clicked his fingers to clear it of snow before patting the other side. Hopefully, the weeks that the two of them had spent together would have warmed Morgan to him a little more than he'd been during their first encounter.

After all, they were friends now, and if Nick allowed himself to go there… well, Morgan had featured in a few dreams he'd had as of late, and he couldn't deny that the other teen was easy on the eyes with his dark hair, green eyes, and tendency to breath fire when irritable.

"I don't know, it's quite nice having some company on these cold nights. I'm not quite sure how you people stand the cold." Morgan's voice was light, and for once, Nick noticed that his smile reached his eyes. "Some nights, I'm tempted to set my bedroom on fire, if we're being honest."

"Please refrain from burning down my castle," said Nick, holding up his hands. "It's the only one I've got and I'm quite attached to it."

"Fine, but only because you asked nicely."

For a long time after, there was silence. Nick leaned back, folding his hands behind his head as Morgan drew pictures in the snow with a stick. It wasn't awkward, and there was little rush to fill the silence with conversation, and Nick was quite eager to see how long it could last. When he was with Cornelius, there was always something to do, and when he was with Alyssa, she never quite shut up. It was nice to enjoy a bit of companionable silence with a friend for a change.

"So, why can't you sleep?" asked Morgan, breaking the silence just when Nick thought it had been getting good.

"Lots of things, really," said Nick, pondering whether or not he should share. Well, it was not as if he had any secrets these days, and Morgan had proved himself to be a good person by saving Aunt Anna, so it wasn't as though anything he said could be used against him at a later date. "My friends are getting married," he said, finally. "It's odd. As of tomorrow, it's not going to be Cornelius and Alyssa anymore. It's going to be Mister and Missus Fitzherbert."

"Hey, at least you have friends to worry about that stuff," said Morgan, reaching out to grasp him by the shoulder.

"Hey, you have friends," Nick objected. "I like you, and Cornelius thinks you're a swell guy, and you even won over Alyssa. Also, Olaf is smitten by you, and he's a very good judge of character."

"I have friends _now_ ," corrected Morgan, raising an eyebrow.

Nick paused, not knowing how to respond to that. Instead, he turned so that he was facing the other teen, and he arranged his features into what he hoped was an, I'm here to listen type expression. It wasn't the easiest, he knew, given that he wasn't quite accustomed to having heart-to-heart conversations with people he'd just met a few weeks ago in a frozen garden at an hour past midnight.

Thankfully, Morgan seemed to accept his invitation.

"I didn't have many friends growing up," said Morgan with a shrug. "Actually, to be honest, I didn't really have any." Pausing, he steepled his fingers across his lap. "It's not easy having the Queen of Darkness as a mother. I love her, and I wouldn't change her for the world, but… you know?"

Nick was silent, not knowing how to respond. The truth was, he did know what Morgan meant. He loved his mother, he did, but there was no denying that his life would have been a lot easier these past few years if he'd been born a commoner.

"You probably don't even know what that's like," said Morgan, leaning back and staring at the sky. "I'd be envious of your life if you didn't have to live in this frozen land all the time."

"I probably know what it's like to have to hide things more than most people," said Nick, not really thinking about what he was saying. "I mean, I've had the same thoughts you have quite a few times."

"You're a crown prince with the perfect life, and your mother is actually on the right side of history," said Morgan incredulously. "What could you possibly have to hide?"

Nick frowned, wondering what to say. The garden was still, and his heart was beating in his ears as he stared at Morgan, who was looking at him with questioning eyes. It was late, too late, and he probably did need to get some sleep, Nick reasoned. Or, he should have just gone down to get himself that milk. A hundred thoughts racing through his mind, Nick did the only thing that seemed to make sense in that moment. He closed his eyes and kissed him.

Everything he had read about first kisses in books was a lie, it turned out, because the world did not move beneath his feet, and his heart didn't skip a beat. There was no fiery, burning passion igniting in his chest. Their first kiss was awkward yet sweet, Morgan's lips moving against his, their hands fumbling as they tried to figure out what to do with them, their noses bumping whenever they moved. Morgan's teeth clicked against his a few times, and when Nick opened his eyes, he was stabbed in them with strands of black hair.

Finally, after what felt like eternity but could have been a few moments, he pulled away, a nervous grin on his face. It had been a gamble, but Morgan hadn't pulled away, and he had kissed him back, so at least he knew that he'd read the signal right. Swallowing, he brushed his hair out his eyes and blinked.

"See," he said, "Life would have been a lot easier if I wasn't a prince."

Morgan chuckled in that way he always did when making light of a situation he didn't know how to react to. "You realise you could have just told me that, right?"

Nick bit his lip as he nodded, wondering if he'd just royally fucked things up between them. Theirs was an easy friendship in many ways, something that neither of them had planned but somehow stumbled into, but though it had only been a few weeks, he did value it. His Aunt Anna had always said that friendships went south when they turned into relationships, but then again, he had seen Cornelius and Alyssa make it work… Godmother, there was a nervous fluttering in his chest as he waited for Morgan to continue, to respond in some way. When he was met with only silence, he took a deep breath and decided that if Morgan wasn't going to say anything, then he should.

"Be honest," said Nick. "I'm new to this, and I don't know how it works at all. Did I just mess things up?"

Morgan considered him for a moment, raising an eyebrow. Then, he reached out and linked his fingers with Nick's, a smile on his face. Letting out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding, Nick glanced down at their hands before looking back up at Morgan, silently urging the butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach to behave themselves.

"I'm new to this as well," replied Morgan, his smile turning into a grin. "I mean, I have three friends that I met not even a month ago, four if you count that blasted snowman that follows me around all the time, and don't tell the others, but you're my favourite of the lot. I don't want to fuck that up. But on the other hand, I've been nursing the tiniest of crushes on you since you saved me from your guards, so I'm a bit torn about the whole thing."

"You have a crush _on me?"_ Nick asked, raising an eyebrow. The rest of what Morgan had said was forgotten, white-noise against what was clearly the most important part of that little speech. "But I was, forgive the expression, still in the closet."

Morgan flushed, seemingly having just realized what he'd admitted and looked away. "Well, if you must know, I wasn't going to say anything because, for one, I thought you liked girls, and for two, I was still waiting for you all to get tired of the new novelty that was me and move on."

"But, then I kissed you," said Nick, opting to keep things on topic as he squeezed the other teenager's wrist. "Still think that?"

"Actually, no," said Morgan. "I'm willing to give this a shot if you are, Nick."

"I am." Nick nodded, and then he frowned. "But, next time you kiss me, promise you won't try to feel up my ear." He feigned a shudder, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Fine." Morgan snickered, a teasing grin on his face as he leaned in. "But only if you stop running your fingers over my eyelids."

"Shut up." Nick giggled before kissing him again.


	10. The Gathering Storm

**Warning:** The Agrabah Segment of this chapter contains scenes of a somewhat disturbing nature in regards to the horror genre. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 **The Gathering Storm**

* * *

Christopher Charming had always been a dreamer, even when he was awake. Lying in bed with the early-morning sun streaming in through the window, he lazily pulled his sheets a bit higher to stave off the chill. A pair of birds had landed on the ledge, and their sweet song was almost enough to make him want to get out of bed and open the window so he could hear them better.

He'd always liked the robins, those little red birds that roused him each morning, ever since he'd been a child. So much so that when the time had come to take on a personal sigil, he'd chosen the robin as his seal and crest. There were other princes in the world who preferred to honour their kingdom's with their sigils: Prince Nicholas had his snowflake, Prince Ali a fennec, and Prince Cornelius a sunburst, but Christopher was content with just his robin.

He was a bit of a sad case, that way, he reasoned, as he rolled out of bed and headed for his bathroom. There was no denying it. When one was twenty years old and still had a yellow teddy-bear as a best friend, it wasn't difficult for most of the people who met him to think that he was a bit pathetic. Not that he minded, to be honest. People were boring, but his stuffed toys were the most interesting friends he'd ever met.

People, be they fellow royals or commoners, always looked at him as if he was mad whenever he mentioned his friends, but he swore that he wasn't. Well, maybe a little, but not in a bad way. He'd been three when his fairy godmother had visited him and granted him a wish, and with his parent's constant arguments echoing in his head, he'd made the only one he could think off at the time. He'd wished that the only real friends he'd had, the stuffed toys that kept him company whilst his parents fought, would come to life and be with him forever.

And, they had, from his favourite yellow bear to the donkey that was always missing its tail, his friends had stopped being toys. They walked, talked, felt, and played, keeping him company whenever he was lonely or sad, sometimes getting on his nerves, but always ready to indulge his latest notions and ideas. They were what friends should be, he thought, not the groveling band of miscreants who followed him around the court hoping to curry favor with him or his parents.

Well, there'd also been a little something extra his fairy godmother had thrown in, but that wasn't as fun as having his friends come to life.

After splashing some water on his face and getting dressed, he felt ready to face the long day ahead. With his parents away, it fell to him to rule, and when his court laughed at him whenever his back was turned, ruling was an impossible task. People followed strength and wisdom, he had once heard Queen Jasmine say during one of the many balls his parents held, and he was neither. He was just a boy who enjoyed spending his free time in his bedroom with a sketchpad on his lap, his hands stained with charcoal, and Pooh chatting away at his side.

Some future king he was.

"Any plans for the day, buckeroo?" asked Tigger, bouncing at his side as he got dressed. The tiger was the largest of his stuffed animals, nearly as tall as Christopher's knee, and there was a spring in Tigger's tail he used to bounce around rather than walk.

"He's going to see Priscilla again," said Rabbit from his perch on the dresser. Looking up from a large book on gardening, Rabbit rolled his eyes. "Pooh's all out of honey again, isn't he?"

Christopher blushed as he ran a hand through his hair. Reaching down to scoop Pooh up off the ground and place the bear on his shoulder, he made for the door, ready to make his escape before Kanga joined in the teasing. She was always the sweetest of his toys, but there was no escaping the fact that she was practically his mother, and mothers did tend to tease their sons an awful lot about their crushes.

Well, not most mothers… but Kanga had been more a mum to him than Snow White had ever been. Queen Snow had looked at him and always wanted to change him, to make him the perfect prince, the envy of all the realms. Kanga… she just wanted him to be Christopher.

"Rabbit, if you must know, the honey that comes from Mister Blanchard's beehives is Pooh's favourite. Seeing Priscilla at her father's shop in the village is hardly something I can help," he said, wagging a finger at them.

"Actually," corrected Pooh, but Christopher clapped a hand over his bear's mouth before Pooh could finish the sentence. Avoiding the knowing looks on his stuffed animals' faces, he closed the door behind him.

The castle was rather quiet, which was odd considering the time. Usually, the staff would be going about their business at this hour, and the councillors would be going over matters of state in the throne room… matters that he should be overseeing, not that they would let him. Oh, Prince Christopher, there's no need to worry your head over this paltry stuff. Hurry along and let us to it. You're not one for numbers and such anyway.

It was almost as humiliating as the time his mother had forced him to dress in motley for a week because he refused to get rid of Pooh and the others. He was a prince, not a jester, she'd said, but if he insisted on being the court fool, then he'd have his wish. Christopher bit his lip as he hurried through the castle, hoping that he didn't bump into anyone on the way out. He wasn't supposed to be visiting Priscilla either, and every person in the castle were his mother's eyes and ears.

"Prince Christopher," said a voice, and Christopher gritted his teeth in frustration.

The side door to the gardens was just a few feet away, and he'd almost been there. Taking a deep breath, Christopher turned to find Aaron, the Renvale's Master of Hunt—and one of his mother's lackeys—surveying him with a stern look.

"Where are you off too in such a hurry?" asked Aaron, quirking a brow. "Surely, you are not off to the stables. Your mother was quite clear in that you are not to leave the castle."

"I thought I could begin the day with a walk through the gardens," Christopher replied. Inwardly, he cursed. Aaron was as adept at sniffing out duplicity as he was at bringing in fresh meat from the woods, and Christopher had always been a bad liar. There was no telling what his mother would do if she found out.

"Come now, Prince Christopher. Would you really lie to me?" Aaron asked, reaching for the large horn at his waist. Christopher knew that horn. If it was blown, half the guards in the castle would be there in a moment, and even if he ordered them to stand aside and let them go… he fought the urge to snort. The guards didn't respect him. They respected the coin his parents gave them, and Queen Snow would have no doubt left orders to keep him in the castle.

"Of course not," Christopher replied with his most charming smile. He needed to leave… and now. His parents would have left Arendelle by now, and it would not take them long once they reached the open ocean and let Lady Moana speed their way. If he wanted to visit Priscilla, he needed to do so now. _Looks like there's no helping it,_ he decided. Swiftly, he reached out and grasped Aaron by the wrist. _,_

Aaron seemed to realize what was happening as Christopher's eyes grew misty, but it was too late. He slumped forward, already asleep and lost in the pleasant dream he'd just been given. There'd be no memory of this, he hoped. Easing Aaron onto a nearby bench and pulling his hat down over his eyes to make it look like the man had decided to take a quick nap, Christopher turned on his heel and hurried for the stables.

"Christopher, I have had a think," said Pooh, who had been miraculously silent up to that point. "What I have thought during my think is that if we took your horse, then everyone would think, as I have, that you are gone."

He paused. His bear was right. Well, there was a first time for everything, he supposed. Christopher changed direction in mid-step, heading for the postern gate instead. It would be a short walk to the village if he took the shortcut through the woods, and there was little that could threaten him, even in these dark times. He flexed his wrist. There was always a new dream just waiting to be forced into someone's head.

"Climb under my cloak," he said, patting Pooh on the head, noticing that the bear was shivering on his shoulder. "It should be warmer in there."

"Aaah, yes," said Pooh as he did just that. "Many thanks, Christopher."

Rolling his eyes, Christopher shifted a little. He was almost at the castle's postern gate, and there were never any guards there at this hour of the morning. Getting back in might be challenging, but he could always use his Dreamtouch if need be. Keeping a wary eye around him as he hurried through the gardens, he froze for the second time that morning when someone called his name.

"Lord Isaac," said Christopher, turning and forcing a smile to his lips. The statesman standing across from his was balding and genial in appearance, but his eyes were chips of steel. Long ago, Christopher had learned to be wary of the man, knowing that he was little more than Queen Snow's puppet.

"Oh, bother." As usual, Pooh's mutter summed up his thoughts far more succinctly than he very could.

"Prince Christopher, how lovely to have caught you," said Lord Isaac. "I send Sir Aaron to summon you earlier, but he seems to have just missed you." There was a knowing look on the stateman's face that Christopher did not like, not one bit. "We have received word from your parents. Your father has made you a betrothal contract."

"A what?" he spluttered. "To whom?"

"Princess Alyssa Rose of Amoré," said Lord Isaac. "You should be thrilled. Your ship leaves before lunch."

"My ship?" he asked in confusion, brushing Pooh through his cloak to make sure the bear stayed silent. A shiver ran down his spine as he, for the first time, caught sight of the castle guards that had moved to surround him, cutting off all routes of escape. Worse still, his parents wanted him to marry Alyssa… he didn't know her that well, but she was four years his junior, still a girl, and he didn't think they'd get along well, to be honest. Well, maybe they could be friendly, but he didn't think she'd be the type to enjoy having Pooh and the others around.

He shook himself. He was drifting, losing himself in his thoughts. No, he needed to keep his concentration on Isaac and the guards. His parents may have spoken, but he was still the crown prince of Renvale. They couldn't force him to get onto a ship bound for Amoré, and he wouldn't get on one of his own free will, not until he'd gotten the chance to plead his case with his father.

"Your dear mother did mention you may resist the idea," said Lord Isaac, raising a hand. "She says that you will thank her for this, someday." He dropped his hand.

Christopher didn't have time to guess the meaning behind those words before something, metallic and heavy, hit him in the back of the head, and his world went black before he hit the ground.

* * *

Every messenger to reach the Imperial Palace had arrived bearing the same dark tidings: The Great Wall had been breached, and the soldiers had been put to rout. A dozen outposts had fallen silent since the first word of the invasion had come, and with each passing day, another watchfire dimmed upon the horizon. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before the invading army reached the imperial palace… but, that was the least of her worries.

Li Yuë was not the type of girl to fret over the things she could not control, but the recent days had taken a toll on her nerves. Her father, General Li Shang, was still in the field, no doubt leading what remained of the imperial armies against their foes. At the very least, the messengers still brought word of his movements, letting Yuë know that he was still alive. The same could not be said of her brothers. Of Bolin, Ping, and Jian, there was no word, and the outpost that they'd been stationed at had been amongst the first to go dark. Jian… her eldest brother had been one of those manning The Great Wall, stationed there as a captain.

Yuë shuddered. It was said that The Great Wall was in ruins, that it had been breached in a dozen places at once, and that nothing save for ghosts remained to keep their vigil. She took a deep breath. There was still hope, however slim, that her brothers were still alive. There was no way they could be gone. Jian had his girl in the village, the one who wove silk into the most beautiful dresses; Bolin had wanted to see the world outside the Imperium, and Ping had been planning on buying a small farm after finishing his three years of mandatory service.

She clenched her fist. They could not be dead.

"You should get some rest," said Mulan, and Yuë started, looking up to see her mother standing in her doorway. There were dark rings beneath her reddened eyes, and it was clear that she was exhausted. As always, her mother wore a sword at her waist, and though her dress was silk, Yuë knew that there was armor underneath.

It may have been decades since her mother had saved the Imperium from ruin, but Yuë knew that, despite her mother taking up a position as high advisor to the emperor, she had always remained a soldier.

"If I sleep, I'll dream, and I'm too tired for nightmares," she replied. "Besides, I should be in training. It won't be long before they reach the palace." She glanced at her sai, the dual blades lying upon her dresser where she'd left them; she may not be the best fighter, opting instead to focus on books and scrolls, but her mother had seen to it that she could protect herself.

"No, it won't be," said Mulan, taking a seat beside her and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "But, you will not be here."

Yuë tensed. Did her mother expect her to flee when the Imperium needed her? Despite everything, she was still a warrior, and she could fight as well. Shaking off her mother's arm, she rose to her feet and glared.

"I will not leave," she said, her voice hard. "Our army was put to rout on an open field. When the palace is besieged, you will need every sword you can find to hold it."

"Yuë, listen to me," said Mulan, grasping her by the shoulders and looking her in the eye. "The Emperor's illness is severe. He will not survive the week. Tomorrow morning, the remainder of the royal family, save for the Empress, will be going into hiding."

"Hiding?" asked Yuë, dread filling her chest. That did not bode well. If the royal princes and princesses were scattering to wait out the storm, then that could only mean that her mother and the other advisors had decided that their safety was not assured within the palace. And, if that was the case, it could only mean…

"You don't expect to win, do you, Mum?" she asked, hoping beyond hope that she had read the situation wrong and that her mother would correct her.

"Miracles can happen, Yuë," said Mulan, her voice trembling. "But, the Hollow Ones are a force like nothing I have ever seen. You were not there when I aided the council in retaking Oloria. You do not understand their power. If this enemy were the Huns, if it was any other hostile force, I would have led the imperial guard myself to confront and deal with the threat. But—" Her voice broke, and she hung her head. The silence was deafening, and a few tears ran down Mulan's cheeks.

"Your father is likely dead," continued Mulan, and Yuë would have fallen had her mother not been holding her upright. "The imperial army planned to make their last stand on the banks of the Yellow River this morning, and we have had no word since. Your brothers… it does not look good, Yuë, which is why you need to leave. Every missive I've sent in the past week has been lost, and I dare not send Mushu, not when I may have needed him to bear you to safety here."

"Mum, I don't understand."

"Yuë, if the Imperium is to survive, we need the aid of the council. As I said, my own missives have been lost in transit, so you must go yourself. Mushu will carry you to Arendelle, and I pray that the council is still there when you arrive. If they are not, Queen Elsa is one of the wisest and most powerful rulers in the world. She will shelter you and handle the rest."

A hundred thoughts ran through Yuë's head, and she escaped her mother's grasp. Pacing the room, she felt ready to tear out her hair by the roots. It was as though everything that could go wrong had gone wrong, and now even the barest traces of hope were flickering away, dying out like embers crushed beneath a monster's heel.

"What about you?" she asked, finally. "Mum, even if I can gather the reinforcements we need, what can you do here?"

Mulan gave her a sad smile, shaking her head. Resting one hand on the hilt of her sword, she turned to look out the window. In the distance, the watchfires dimmed, going out one-by-one as the Hollow Ones approached.

"We will be able to hold out for a time," she said, her voice soft and final. "And, if we cannot… I am a soldier, Yuë. I learned to die a long time ago."

* * *

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today for the—" Nick paused, glancing down at the open book on his desk, wanting to know what came next. It was not that he hadn't practiced, it was just that he had never officiated a wedding before, and despite it being just the four of them in his study, it was rather nerve-wracking.

Knowing him, he'd do the ceremony wrong and wind up with Cornelius married to his desk.

"We can skip the formalities, Nick," said Alyssa, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Just skip ahead to the important bits."

She was dressed in a simple white dress, stockings, and ballet flats. Her bouquet had come from the palace gardens, and her jewellery was plain yet beautiful. Nick felt for her, he did. A royal bride was destined to have a train so long that it took nearly six pages to carry, her favourite blossoms clasped in her hands, and the crown jewels of her kingdom. This must be a far-cry from the wedding Alyssa must have pictured in her youth, but at the very least, Nick reasoned, she loved the groom with all her heart.

Cornelius, for his part, had borrowed one of Nick's suits, given that he hadn't carried any of his own. The pants were a touch too long, the sleeves went past his thumbs, and it was far too tight at the shoulders and waist. Still, it was formal enough, even if the groom had opted for a pair of trainers instead of actual dress-shoes.

They wore their crowns, at least: Alyssa's was a rose-motif diadem of rubies and white gold, whilst Cornelius's crown was simple, a band of gold topped with a sunburst in each of the four cardinal directions.

It was a very odd wedding that broke all the rules, but then again, so had Cornelius and Alyssa.

"Yes, this is all very cute," interrupted Morgan from where he was keeping watch at the door. "But we are on a bit of schedule."

"He's right," said Cornelius, his voice just a little jittery. "Hurry up, Nick, and let's hope this surprise witness you pulled out of your ass can make it in time to sign."

"I mean, he's already here," said Nick, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the shadow perched on the window-ledge. He definitely owed his Uncle Peter a favour for this one, but the shadow was as good a witness as any. They were all set.

"So, skipping all the blah-blah," said Nick, quickly turning the pages until he'd found the next part he'd bookmarked. "Do you, Princess Alyssa Rose of Amoré, only daughter and heiress of King Adam dé Amoré and Queen Consort Belle dé la Rose, take Prince Cornelius Fitzherbert to be your lawfully wedded husband, to bind your fate with his, to share in his fortunes and his woes, to follow him in search of your happily ever after?" _Godmother, that was a mouthful._

"I do," she said, smiling at Cornelius. "With this ring, I do you wed." Reaching out, she took his hand and placed a simple band of gold, crowned with an ornate rose, upon his finger. Nick grinned, recognising the jeweller's mark as the one he'd taken Alyssa to on their very first trip to the city.

"So, skipping the rest of the nonsense," said Nick, glancing up at Morgan to make sure the coast was still clear. His boyfriend flashed him a thumbs up, and he nodded before turning back to the book.

"Do you, Prince Cornelius Fitzherbert of Corona, only son and heir of Queen Rapunzel Fitzherbert and King Consort Eugene Fitzherbert take Princess Alyssa Rose to be your lawfully wedded wife, to share in her joys and her sorrows, to follow her in search of your happily ever after?" he asked.

"I do," said Cornelius, grinning as he took Alyssa's hand and slipped on her wedding ring.

Nick frowned at it, noting that it definitely was not from Arendelle… in fact, the style was very similar to the fashion of Corona's goldsmiths, and he was curious as to how his friend had gotten it. Gold and crowned with three emeralds… it looked almost like… no, it couldn't be.

"I hope you don't mind me using my grandmother's ring," Cornelius said to Alyssa, his tone somewhat apologetic. "Mother gave it to me years ago to one day use, and it's the best I could come up with on short notice."

"Cor, it's perfect," she replied, and without waiting for Nick to finish up, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to her husband's.

"In the name of Tsar Luna, the Godmother, and Peter Pan, I now pronounce you husband and wife, from this day until your last day, until death do you part. You may now kiss… or continue kissing, as it were."

Grinning, Nick closed the book and dug into his desk for the marriage license he'd drawn up for the ceremony. Another first, he reckoned, but he was crown prince, and such things were within his power. Not for the first time, he wondered how they'd thank him for his role in the entire affair. He wasn't being vain or anything, it was just that this entire wedding would have never happened had he not been present.

Of course, he may have burned a few bridges with the court of Amoré by aiding the heiress of the throne in eloping, but by the time he was King of Arendelle, Alyssa would be Queen of Amoré, and any damage could be rectified. Corona was a simpler matter. His aunt and uncle may be cross, but he'd just blame Cornelius for roping him into things, and that would be that.

Not that he was in the habit of throwing his cousin under the bus… it was just that Aunt Rapunzel could be quite terrifying when she was angry.

Reaching for the sealing wax he'd had heating over a candle, he poured a small dollop over the right part and pressed in his signet ring. When he pulled it away, a single snowflake—his personal sigil—was evident in the white-blue wax, and he quickly signed beside it. Handing them the contract and setting the next colour wax to melt, he walked over to the door.

"You're up," he said to Morgan, letting his fingers ghost over his boyfriend's hand just a few seconds longer than was socially acceptable. Thankfully, Cornelius and Alyssa were too occupied with their seals and signatures to pay him much attention. Nick wasn't ashamed of his budding relationship, not by a long shot... but he definitely wanted to see where things were going before he told people.

"You sure about this, mate?" asked Cornelius as Morgan walked up to the desk. "You'll be making a lifelong enemy in King Adam if you bind our wedding."

"Well, it's not like I'm likely to be invited to Amoré for tea anyway, so I might as well help my friends," said Morgan with a wry smile. With a glance at the newlyweds, he asked, "You two are naming your firstborn after me, right? Unless it's ugly, that is."

"How about an open invitation to visit Corona, and a promise from Alyssa that she won't punch you in the face for that last bit." Cornelius raised an eyebrow, placing a restraining hand on Alyssa's wrist as she glared.

"I'll take what I can get," said Morgan, and Nick had to stifle a giggle at the frantic manner in which he backed away from Alyssa. Without another word, Morgan closed his eyes and placed both his hands upon the marriage contract. Green light flowed from his fingertips, surrounding around the sheet of parchment before forming glowing green chains. The chains twisted into an infinity symbol before sinking into the paper, disappearing in a brief flash of light.

Morgan stumbled as he removed his hands from the contract, and Nick hurriedly grabbed him to keep him upright. With a light grin, he helped his boyfriend to the nearest chair and, as gently as he could, set him down. For a moment, he was possessed with the desire to lean in and steal a kiss, but he was painfully aware that Cornelius and Alyssa were still in the room.

Well, he was good at hiding, and the two of them had decided to take things slow until they were certain of how they actually felt about each other. Nick was painfully aware that his position was more precarious than Morgan's. His heir was a simple matter, and his sexuality didn't affect his ability to ensure the royal line continued through his cousins, but he still had to one day rule from his mother's throne. He was under no illusions. It would be an uphill battle with the nobles and other royals for him to sit the throne with a king consort at his side, and he needed to be sure about Morgan before letting people know who it was he was currently seeing.

After all, he didn't really mind Morgan's lineage, but that was because he knew his boyfriend. To the outside world, Morgan was nothing more than the dastardly son of Maleficent, the Queen of Darkness, the very incarnation of hell. Well, that was stretching it, but unless Morgan had Hades for a father, it wasn't as though his reputation could get much worse.

As Cornelius and Alyssa slipped out of the room, no doubt eager to begin consummating their marriage, Nick sank into the chair beside Morgan, all but sitting on his lap. Despite just performing the ceremony himself—quite well, if he did say so himself—he still couldn't believe that his best friends were married, and the thought of them being intimate made him feel a bit queasy, truth be told. It was Cornelius and Alyssa… one was like his sister and the other was like his brother, but it was clear that they didn't see it that way. He shuddered.

"So, are you still a man of the cloth, or can I persuade you into a bit of harmless sin?" asked Morgan, nudging him in the side and shaking him from his thoughts.

Chuckling, Nick shot a bolt of frost at the door to lock it before leaning in for a kiss.

* * *

"Come along, Anna, you've done this before," said Elsa in what she hoped was an encouraging voice. "Just a few more pushes."

Her sister turned to glare at her, face screwed up in pain. She had gone into labour in the early hours of the morning, and the midwives had been sent for immediately. Propped up in bed on several pillows, Anna lay upon several sheets with her legs spread, and a midwife carefully coaxing out the child. Kristoff sat at her left, stroking his wife's hair and holding her left hand, whilst Elsa sat on the right, feeling as though her hand may break as her sister squeezed.

"You're doing good, darling," said Kristoff, blanching as Anna dug her nails into his skin.

"Never again, you hear me," she snapped, closing her eyes. "This is the last one."

Elsa masked a chuckle. Her sister had said the same thing when Bryn had been born nearly a decade ago, and yet, here they were, awaiting the next child. There was little doubt in her mind that there'd be another. Anna had always liked children and wanted to have a large family, despite being… well, to be honest, her sister was a bitch during labour.

Then again, Nick's birth had been very easy on her, and there hadn't been all that much pain. Judging by her sister's screams, however, this was not the case for all women.

"Someone needs to tell Bryn," Elsa reminded, hoping to stop the argument before it began. The baby would take its time on getting here, and Anna needed to focus on pushing. Hopefully, her niece would return by tomorrow evening, and the baby would be here by then. She smiled. It would be nice to have Bryn in the castle for a few days. Though more rock troll than princess, her niece was a lovely child, and as time passed, she was growing to be a rather powerful shaman.

"I've sent Sven and Olaf," said Kristoff without missing a beat. "They should have reached the troll village by now."

Elsa nodded, and the hours ticked by, punctuated by her sister's screams. As the sun began to rise, there was a soft knock on the door, and Elsa squeezed Anna's hand before going to answer it. Sticking her head out into the landing, she frowned at the sight of Nick.

Or, more to the point, the love-bite half-hidden by his collar. For a moment, she thought to ask before falling silent. He would tell her when he was ready. After all, there were no more secrets between the two of them. And, it didn't hurt that there would be no royal bastards coming from whatever dalliances he had in his youth… King Philip was still trying to smooth over his eldest son having knocked up one of the serving girls in Somnia, and that was something Elsa hoped to never find on her morning pile of paperwork.

"The Charmings have taken their leave. They apologise for not waiting to see the baby born, but King Charming says that if they do not leave at once, the straits may well become impassable. King Eric and Queen Ariel had taken their leave as well. The rest are having breakfast, and everyone sends their best wishes up."

"Thank you, son," she said. Nick had been busy, it seemed, and she smiled at the thought. It was not the first time he'd had to step up whilst she was occupied, but handling royal dignitaries was something she had not thought him ready for. She had been mistaken, it would seem.

Then, the sound of a baby crying filled her ears, and both she and her son wore matching smiles. The newest addition to their little family had arrived whilst they spoke, and the baby clearly was healthy, judging by the power in its tiny lungs.

"Stay here, and I'll call you in to meet your new cousin as soon as Anna's all cleaned up," she said, giving him a quick hug before darting back into the room.

Fifteen minutes later, the afterbirth had been passed, the baby had been cleaned, and Anna's sheets had been changed. Elsa smiled at the sight of her brother-in-law cradling his new daughter. She was a tiny thing swaddled in a thick pink blanket, and Anna was half-asleep on the bed, a blissful smile on her face as Kristoff handed her the baby.

"Nick, you can come in," said Elsa, and her son bounded in with all the excitement only a sixteen-year-old could muster.

"Wow, she's small," he said, clearly not thinking. "I thought she'd be bigger given Aunt Anna's…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair and looking sheepish.

"No, keep talking," said Anna, rolling her eyes. "Every aunt dreams of her wet-behind-the-ears nephew calling her fat."

Elsa laughed as she walked over and peered down at the baby in her sister's arms. She was a plump girl with pink cheeks and a shock of her father's blond hair. She still hadn't opened her eyes, but if Elsa was to wager a guess, she'd say that the girl had Kristoff's eyes as well. It was hard to be sure, given how young her niece was, but there was something about her that distinctly reminded Elsa of her brother-in-law.

"What are you naming her?" asked Nick, sitting on the side of the bed and letting his uncle place the little girl in his arms. Carefully, Kristoff kept one hand in place behind the girl's head, and Nick grinned as stared down at his cousin, who had decided this was the appropriate time to have her first drool session.

"Morrigan," said Anna, looking at Kristoff. "We're naming her Morrigan after the warrior goddess of old."

"A valkyrie and a warrior goddess," said Nick, grinning at his aunt as he passed his new cousin over to Elsa. Carefully, she accepted the softly squirming bundle, taking care to support Morrigan's head. "You seem to be collecting a pantheon, Aunt Anna, Uncle Kristoff."

"We can't all be named after Santa Claus, young man," said Anna, wagging her finger at Nick, though there was a grin on her face.

"Also," said Kristoff, exchanging a warm look with his wife. "She's named Morrigan, after the man who saved her life before she was even born."

* * *

"Becoming Faceless? Aladdin, we can't," said Sultanah Jasmine. Her voice was anguished.

"We might not have a choice," replied Sultan Aladdin. "Time is running out, and Ali doesn't have much left to begin with."

"I know, Al," she said. "But, if we do, Agrabah will become the next Oloria."

"Jasmine… if we don't, there might not be an Agrabah left to save."

Aquaria sighed as she walked away from the door. She'd heard enough, though she had not meant to eavesdrop. Having just done what she could do to restore another of the city's wells, she'd returned to the castle to let Sultanah Jasmine know that there was enough water to last another day, but before she'd been able to knock, she'd heard their voices. Their conversation had sent chills running down her spine.

Faceless… was that really the cost to ending this? If you turned from the Man in the Moon's path, if you renounced your happy ending and became Faceless, doomed to an eternity of hopeless misery, then you were little more than a puppet to the shadows. Agrabah would never recover if their rulers became empty vessels, bound to obey the shadow's every will. That much, she knew. She had read the old books in Atlantica, the ones her mother had forbidden. She knew what awaited the Faceless.

They were stronger than the Hollow Ones by many leagues, their human strengths twisted and enhanced by the darkness they now embraced. Their will was not their own. And, more importantly, they were almost impossible to put down. The Old King of Oloria had been forced down that path, it was said, after his son-in-law had been butchered and his daughter turned into supper.

Even Lord Mushu's flames had barely been enough to scar the man once he'd gone Faceless, and the battle between the council and he had left Oloria scarred and ruined. Nothing grew in those demon-haunted ruins, and the very land was said to be haunted by demons.

It was a dark place, an empty place, and Aquaria would not allow Agrabah to have the same fate. She had come to love the desert kingdom over the years, almost as much as she loved its prince.

There was another way. She rested her hand on her stomach. Perhaps… no, she was still uncertain. Any number of things could have delayed her period, from her stress to the unfamiliar clime of Agrabah, and there was no guarantee that she carried her first child. Still, if she was… She'd read enough of the old books for the first hints of a plan to come to her mind.

Making her way to her lover's bedroom, she felt her heart sink as she walked in. He was twisting in his sleep, muttering and drenched in sweat. There was not much time now. The livestock of Agrabah had begun to die, one by one, and soon, the tenth plague would be upon them. She could not allow that to happen.

What was a firstborn, she thought, against the warmth of Ali's kiss and the sound of his laugh? When considered against the thousands of firstborn sons in all of Agrabah, and the others, those that would die of thirst and starvation should the plagues continue. What of Sultanah Jasmine and Sultan Aladdin, so desperate they were ready to become Faceless to avert catastrophe.

It was nothing. She could have other children when she was older, and the child in her womb, if it even existed… well, she had not yet bonded with it. She did not it, not at all. It could be stillborn or miscarried for all she knew. Too much was still uncertain, and just like that, Aquaria knew what she had to do.

Making sure that the bedroom door was locked, she moved to sit at Ali's bedside. She clasped his hand, wincing at the fiery heat of his skin. For him. All she did tonight, she did for him, for the man she loved.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she whispered. "Rumpelstiltskin. Rumpelstiltskin."

The room grew cold, and her breath misted before her as an inhuman chuckle ripped through the air. She heard him before she saw him, but when her eyes did fall upon the creature, her heart almost stopped. He was twisted and deformed, barely able to pass for human. Large batlike ears, barbed teeth, and a twisted nose that was far too long… he was almost like the villain from the storybooks her mother had read to her as a child.

She shuddered.

"I wondered how long it would take you to call, Dearie," he said, his voice like nails dragging on a chalkboard.

"I want to make a deal," she said, her voice soft as she stroked Ali's hand, not turning to look at the hunched-over imp behind her.

"Well, dearie, isn't that just lovely? But, what makes you think that you have something I want?" His voice was like nails upon a chalkboard, and she flinched at his touch. Filthy nails ran over her bare shoulders, and his breath, hot and sour, filled her nostrils as he pressed up against her.

Her spear was nearby, and she fought down the urge to lunge for it and ram it through his chest. Foul as the imp was, she needed him, and he knew it. Whatever Genie had in mind, whatever Sultan Aladdin and Sultanah Jasmine were considering, they could not pull it off in time. They were royals who held seats upon the council and, worse still, they were heroes. Making deals in the dark was not something that would occur to them, but she had long ago decided that breaking the rules for the right reasons was well worth the cost, whatever it was.

And, more importantly, no matter what toll this would have on her, she could not, would not, lose Ali.

"Because, it's the same thing you always want," she whispered. "Save his life, Rumpelstiltskin, and save Agrabah from this plague… and in return, I offer you my firstborn."

"That was easy, Dearie," he said, giggling. Coming to stand beside her, he pulled out a scroll from his sleeve and unravelled it, letting the contract gleam as he handed it to her. Pulling out a needle from his sleeve, he handed that over as well.

Aquaria frowned before returned the needle. Instead, she reached for her spear, and grazed her thumb over the blade. Blood welled from the cut as, without hesitation, she smeared it across the dotted line, signalling that she accepted the terms of their wager.

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, snapping his fingers. As he did so, the blood-filled crystal jug on Ali's bedside—she had filled it with water that morning—began to pale, the dark liquid returning to what it had been: pure, clear, life-giving water.

Then, she felt something lurch within her, and she clutched at her stomach. It _moved_ under her palm, and her hands widened in alarm as she turned to stare at Rumpelstiltskin, who was watching her with beady eyes. Her arms seemed to be growing slimmer, she realized, the fat and muscle melting off her in moment as something inside her moved.

She doubled over, grasping at her stomach as something kicked inside her. Turning in horror, she looked at the mad imp who, up until that point, had been watching her with a fascinated glint in his eye. _What the hell are you doing to me?_ she wanted to ask, but no sound came out of her mouth as her stomach swelled again, and she felt something rupture in her back, sending a jolt of white-hot agony up her spine. Then, something popped in the small of her back, and she felt her legs turn to jelly.

Blood spurted from between her lips as she fell to the ground, faintly grasping for her spear, but it was far too late. Her stomach was bulbous beneath her silks, throbbing, and he was approaching her. Every scream died in her throat, as if held in place by an invisible wall, and her head lolled to the side as fresh rivulets of blood ran out her nostrils.

"You said I could have your firstborn, Dearie, but you didn't specify when," said Rumpelstiltskin, immobilizing her to the ground with a single snap of his fingers. "It turns out, you're not the first princess to make a deal like this, and after the last one found a way out of paying my bill, I've grown a bit less lenient. It's a bad thing you don't read the fine print."

With that, he reached into his sleeve and drew out a long, slender dagger. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out, and she fought to break free of his spell. Her heart hammered in her chest as the knife came down, slashing open the sheer silk of her dress. Then, the knife came down again, and this time it slid through her skin as if it was made of paper.

She screamed, begged, and pleaded, black spots dancing across her vision as blood poured out of the cut, but no sound escaped her mouth, and no matter how hard she thrashed and fought, she couldn't move so much as an inch. He gazed at her with a twisted leer, cutting away as she felt his hands prying her open, reaching into her body through the gaping slash across her belly, and tears ran down her cheeks as she fought for breath. As the world went black around her, the last thing she saw was Rumpelstiltskin's triumphant grin.


	11. The Calm Before the Storm

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

 **The Calm Before the Storm**

* * *

Just as they had all those weeks ago, the three of them were standing on the docks, only now there was a new addition to their merry group. Nick smiled. The more things changed, the more they seemed to stay the same. Morgan had his hands cupped to his mouth, and he was breathing small puffs of fire to keep himself warm. Both Cornelius and Alyssa wore their wedding rings on fine chains that had been tucked beneath their shirts, and once again, it was Nick's job to keep a careful eye on King Adam as the pair said their goodbyes. Not that there was much he could do in the way of distractions, really. The King of Amoré watched their little group like a hawk.

"So, write to me, you hear?" said Nick, smiling at Alyssa as he gave her a tight hug of farewell. "Don't be a stranger."

"Don't you worry." She chuckled. "And, once I've broken the news to my parents and moved to Corona, I'll be visiting you just as often as Cor."

"Me as well," said Morgan, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And, if they lock you in a tower, just send word. We'll break you out."

"Oh really?" asked Alyssa. "What if it's a dragon-guarded tower with a flaming moat?"

"That's all right. I'm fireproof and I'm fluent in dragon. I'm sure I can come to terms with your gaoler while Nick busts you out."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" asked Cornelius.

"Distract her father." Nick giggled as his cousin winced. It may have been many years since King Adam had last shown the world how beastly he could be, but there was no denying that the man was still absolutely feral in battle. Even with his magic, Nick would balk at having to face him in combat… then again, this was a battle Cornelius had chosen, and it wasn't really his place to get involved in whatever spats Cornelius had with his in-laws.

So, he could simply make popcorn and watch. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

"I'll miss the two of you," said Alyssa with a laugh. "Nick more than Morgan, of course." She winked, and Morgan put a hand over his heart, a faux offended look on his face. Then, she turned to Cornelius.

Nick smiled before taking a step back to let the newlyweds have their moment. Their marriage was still a secret one, so they had to be careful how they behaved when the eyes of the world were on them. Morgan was at his side, watching the fishermen bring in the daily catch. Winter may have come to Arendelle, but fish would always be caught, even if the fishermen had to saw through the ice to get to their catch.

Cornelius brought Alyssa's hand to his lips and kissed her rings, a fond smile on his face. It was a simple gesture, but the politically correct way of greeting a princess. If Nick was being honest with himself, his farewell hug was currently looking like the most impolite farewell of the lot, and he quickly turned to make sure King Adam wasn't glaring at him.

"Screw proprietary," said Alyssa, grabbing Cornelius by the collar and pulling him into a kiss. Despite being caught off-guard, he was quick to return the kiss, and Nick was forced to cough aloud at the sight of King Adam's death glare. Queen Belle had moved to distract him, though she didn't look as though she approved either, but it was only a matter of time before he stormed over.

"Guys." Nick cleared his throat. They, finally, broke apart, looking flushed and far too pleased with themselves.

"That was not a good idea," said Cornelius, his eyes wide.

"Oh, come on," said Alyssa with a smirk. "Your tongue isn't the only part of you I've had in my mouth this morning." That last bit had been spoken very softly, clearly having been meant for Cornelius' ears alone, but Nick couldn't help but overhear.

Had he been taking a drink, he'd have spat everything out in shock. Instead, he doubled over, spluttering and choking, his cheeks red. _Alyssa!_ Morgan thumped him on the back, and by the time he'd composed himself, he wasn't sure he'd be able to look his friend in the eye… ever.

"Nick, don't look like that. One day, you'll find a nice guy, and I'll be happy to explain how things work." Her smirk deepened, eyes flashing with mirth.

At his side, Morgan chuckled, but Nick could have fainted. Clearly, Alyssa had been spending too much time with Cornelius, the randy bugger, and she needed to be kept away from him before she was further corrupted. He shook himself to clear his head. He had said far worse things in jest with Cornelius, but this was Alyssa! She had never seemed the type to, well, make such crude jokes.

Just then, King Adam arrived. He loomed over them with a face like thunder and, his hand moving like a whip, he grasped Alyssa by the wrist and began to pull her along.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, his voice stern and cold. "Your mother and I raised you better than to behave in such a manner. Say your goodbyes at once. We're leaving."

"Father," said Alyssa, wrenching her hand free from his grasp. "Whatever is the matter with you? We are in public. This is no place for one of your tantrums." Holding her head high, she smiled at the three of them before taking her leave, followed by her father, whose mouth was opening and closing like a fish.

A few minutes passed before Nick let out a sigh of relief. "For a moment, I thought he was going to hit you, Cor," he said.

"Me too," said Cornelius.

"Luckily, your wife is made of sterner stuff than you are." Morgan chuckled. "It's good to know who's wearing the pants in this relationship so early on."

"Oh, I'm going to light you up like a Christmas tree," snipped Cornelius, light gleaming between his fingers as he turned. Thankfully, amusement glinted in his eyes, meaning that Nick wouldn't have to worry about his boyfriend and cousin hating each other just yet.

Before Morgan could reply, Nick spoke.

"Uncle Kristoff brought home a new board game from the village this morning. If we hurry back, we can have started a game before we're expected at lunch," he said.

"Sounds like a plan," said Morgan.

Cornelius nodded, and the three boys turned to head back up to the castle. Behind them, a ship pulled out of port, bearing the flag of Amoré. Swiftly, it picked up speed as it headed for the open sea, and if they turned back, they would have seen that Alyssa had long gone below-decks whilst her parents argued on the deck.

(More importantly, none of them realized this was the last time they'd ever see the flag of Amoré in flight)

* * *

"This is a boring game," whined Cornelius, glancing at the cards he was currently holding. It was very financial in nature, and he'd have his share of owning and dealing with real estate when he was in charge of Corona, thank you very much. More to the point, Morgan was winning, judging by the large pile of plastic coins piled in front of him. He didn't even want to be the dog. He'd wanted the carriage, but Nick had called dibs on it, and Morgan had claimed the ship.

Well, a dog was a bit better than the other pieces: a wheelbarrow, a hat, and a slipper.

"You're only saying that because you're losing." Nick rolled his eyes.

"Yes, this is fantastic," added Morgan. "Now pay up. I just built an inn on the Enchanted Forest, so you owe me five hundred coins."

The three of them were lying on Nick's carpet, and they'd been playing _Monarchpoly_ for the past three hours. The game didn't seem to want to end, and it had gotten to the point where his cousin had been forced to have the castle staff bring lunch up to his room. Cornelius had been winning back then, which was when he had thought the game was quite neat. Then, Nick had purchased Corona and built a castle, and Morgan had nailed down an entire quarter of the board, and Cornelius barely been able to keep with how much he was forced to pay out every round.

"Maybe we could just say I win and then start again," said Morgan, as Nick landed on The Enchanted Forest. "Also, five hundred coins please."

"I'm the crown prince of Arendelle," groused Nick, handing over the five white coins. "I can't go bankrupt." Moving over, he leaned over Morgan's shoulder and stared at the property card in the other teenager's hand, to Cornelius's befuddlement. He was a pretty touchy-feely guy, to be honest, but Nick was basically lying on top of Morgan, and more to the point, the dragon boy was grinning, not at all put out.

Well, Nick was freakishly light considering his age, but that didn't change the fact.

"You're cheating," declared Nick, yanking the card out of Morgan's hand. "This says fifty coins, not five-hundred. I call for an inquest."

"Oh, what are you going to do about it?" asked Morgan, rolling over so that he was facing Nick, still under the other teenager, and he winked. Nick flushed, and suddenly, Cornelius was very aware of what was going on. There had been many times over the past few weeks when Alyssa and he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room, but they'd been dating at the time, and then they'd been married… but Nick and Morgan?

How in the Godmother's name had that happened? And why hadn't he been told sooner?

He cleared his throat, and the other two boys jerked apart, looking like two deer caught by a hunter. Raising an eyebrow, he looked at Nick, waiting for an explanation. To be perfectly honest, he was quite indignant about the whole affair. He told his cousin everything, save for the things he and Alyssa got up too in the bedroom. Godmother, Nick had been the first person to know that he was getting married.

And, his cousin clearly hadn't even trusted him enough to say he had a crush on their new draconic friend. Well, he hoped it was a crush. If the two of them were dating and Nick hadn't seen fit to tell him, then he'd really be put out.

"So, Cornelius, any chance you went temporarily blind for a bit?" asked Morgan, running a hand through his hair.

"And deaf," added Nick. "I hear it happens sometimes."

"My senses are working perfectly fine," he replied, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. He was meant to be cross, dammit, and finding the situation funny did not help him in the slightest. "Where has the trust gone, Nick?"

"I dunno," replied his cousin with a faint grin. "Maybe I got a bit used to lying since I spent the past few days covering up your wedding?"

For a moment, there was silence, and then Cornelius threw back his head and laughed. Nick chuckled, reaching out to grasp Morgan's hand, who was in a similar state of mirth, and just like that, most of his indignance slipped away. Nick Frost had always been the secretive sort, even before he'd gotten all broody, but Cornelius couldn't deny it felt nice to see his cousin laugh freely without that guarded look in his eyes.

Still, he'd definitely be pressing him for the full story later. Definitely, and he would not rest until he knew everything.

"So on a serious note, this stays between us, right?" asked Morgan, cutting through the laughter. "Frosty and I are still trying to figure things out, and we don't want to have every eye on the castle on us while we do so."

"Okay, first off, after everything Nick's done for Alyssa and I, and after you helped out at our wedding, Morgan, I'll be the last person to rat you out." He smiled before turning to his cousin and raising an eyebrow. "Secondly, _Frosty?"_

"I told you not to call me that," Nick hissed at Morgan, his cheeks burning red. Looking up at Cornelius, he glared. "And, if you call me that, I know where you live and just how much you hate snow in your bedroom."

Cornelius shuddered at the memory before holding his hands up in surrender. They'd been ten, and he'd done something—he couldn't remember what, exactly—that had royally pissed off his cousin. That had been the day he had learned that one did not cross Nick, because even though he'd been home in Corona, he'd woken at midnight, shivering. It had been snowing in his room, and he was half-buried by the half-melted white stuff, and Nick had been hovering outside his window, clutching his staff and grinning.

"Fine, on one condition." He smirked, the best way of getting even for being kept in the dark coming to mind. "Morgan, did you know Nick can fly?"

"Bastard," grunted Nick under his breath.

"As it turns out, I didn't," replied Morgan. Turning to Nick, he smiled. "So, why haven't you told me that? We could have gone flying at night instead of sitting beside a frozen pond all the time."

"I'm not really a fan of flying," said Nick, shrugging.

"Will you at least show me, just once?" asked Morgan, nudging him. "Do you grow wings made of ice or something?"

Cornelius grinned, propping up his head with one arm. His work here was done. Although, the mental image of Nick with ice wings was quite amusing as well, and he wondered why he'd never thought of that. He'd look a bit like a frost fairy if he did, Cornelius mused.

"Fine," grumbled Nick. Getting to his feet, he yanked off his boots and socks, tossing them to the side of his bed before grasping his staff. He closed his eyes, scrunching up his face in concentration and, just like that, he began to hover a few feet of the ground. Opening his mouth, he rose up until he was touching the ceiling. "There, you two happy?"

Before they could respond, he was back on the ground. Sitting cross-legged beside the game board, he turned his attention back to his pieces. Morgan moved, surprising Cornelius, and sat beside Nick, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

"Hey, I think it's pretty cool," said Morgan, and then he pecked Nick on the lips.

Well, that was rather unexpected, thought Cornelius. If anything, he'd thought it was just a crush, a figuring-things-out, as they'd told him, but there'd been something in that look they'd shared before kissing that he recognised. It wasn't quite serious, not yet, but it was surprisingly similar to the way he'd looked at Alyssa during the early weeks of their romance.

Feeling the ring under his shirt, he smiled. Well, if Nick ended up as happy as he was right now, who was he to mock?

Returning to the game, it wasn't long before he went bankrupt and they were forced to begin another game. It was well into the night when he finally left, dragging himself to his room, his eyelids drooping with tiredness. It had been a very long few days, and he had hardly slept a wink.

Opening his bedroom door, he swore. Inside his room, it was snowing.

* * *

It was said that pride went before the fall. However, she was far from fallen. She was quite proud, however, that much she would admit. There was very little not be proud of, all things considered. The current situation was temporary, nothing more, and once these confounded chains were removed, her revenge would be swift and vicious.

Maleficent chafed against the iron chains binding her to the dingy wall. Not for the first time in her long life, she cursed the fact that she had fairy blood running through her veins. There was very little in this world that could restrain a dragon, but for a fairy, all it took was a few chains of iron. Or, in her case, it was the powdered iron pumped into her cell, the very substance that had greeted her when she'd first arrived in Grimhilde Keep.

It was her own fault. She had underestimated Regina. Once, long ago, she would have counted The Evil Queen as the closest thing she had to a real friend. Their children had even played together on occasion, though to be honest, she had never been very warm to Regina's brood. Henry had been an oaf, and Harry had been a vicious brute… and Renata, she was far too much her mother's daughter for Maleficent's comfort. She had wanted a better life for Morgan than the one she had led, and the children of Regina had always struck her as horrible influences.

She still remembered the day Harry and Henry had died, and how close Morgan had come to sharing their fate. It had been the closest she had come to losing her son, and it had been enough for her to write Regina out of her life for what she had hoped would be the rest of her life.

Still, she had trusted Regina to an extent. There was a long history between the two of them, and Regina had never been the same after the loss of her sons. Then, there was the fact that Maleficent had always been more powerful, more feared, more destructive in her rage… what was a poisoned apple compared to a sleeping curse that had lasted a hundred years and nearly brought Somnia to its knees?

She scoffed. No matter how she spun things in her mind, the end result was the same. She had underestimated Regina, thinking herself to have all the cards in her favour when she had first come to Grimhilde Keep. How would Regina even know about Maleficent's newfound alliance with the council, after all? Still, she had scarcely walked through the door before the spell had taken effect, surrounding her in a storm of powdered iron which burned her skin raw.

Even now, weeks after arrival, the iron dust still filled her cell and every breath she took was torture on her lungs. She could taste the blood that filled her mouth, and she was forced to keep her eyes closed or go blind. That had happened twice already, and she was in no mood to go through the long, painful healing process again.

So, she waited, with iron shackles upon her wrists, ankles, and throat, powerless and cast down, but angry. Her fury grew with every passing moment, and as soon as she was free, she would rain hell upon this miserable castle and all who lived within it. First Regina, wherever that witch was, and then Renata, who visited her often with a barbed insult, never realizing how unwise it was to poke a wounded dragon. The other three… she would deal with them as well, but their punishment would be long and lengthy, and she would fashion garments from their skins just as they had used her scales to make new boots.

"I don't believe it," said a woman's voice, dry and bitter, and Maleficent was alert in an instant.

She had known there was someone in the cell across from her, but she had not thought to speak to whomever it was. Doubtless, it was some powerless fool, or she'd have sensed them more strongly. Now, however, it seemed that her fellow inmate had wizened up to the lack of isolation, and who was Maleficent to turn down a conversation.

"The Queen of Darkness," said the woman. "I've never seen you without your horns."

"And who might you be?" asked Maleficent, unwilling to open her eyes. Doubtless, the sight of whoever it was would be disappointing, and she liked keeping her eyes free of iron.

"You don't recognize me?" The woman snorted. "I can't blame you. I hardly recognize my own reflection these days. Perhaps this will help jog your memory. Hair as black as a raven's wings, lips as red as blood, skin white as—"

"Snow White," said Maleficent, her lips curling into a sneer. "It impresses me that, even as a prisoner, you would describe your appearance so poetically."

"Poetry helps pass the time," Snow retorted. "I have been here quite a while."

"A while?" This got Maleficent's attention. "Nonsense. Or have you forgotten that our last meeting, not two weeks ago, in Arendelle?"

"Aaah," said Snow White, sounding as though she'd just learned something new. "So, my beloved Prince Charming is still none the wiser to the witch masquerading as me?" There was bitterness in her voice, and as much as Maleficent wanted to revel in it, she had larger concerns. If what was being said was true, then many of her questions had just been answered, for it would seem the council had been compromised.

Maleficent scoffed. Of course they had been. She had been wrong. Morgan and she would both have been safer on their own. Then, a fist clenched around her heart. Morgan… if they knew that Maleficent had turned traitor, then they knew where her son was. Now more than ever, she needed to break these chains. As much faith as she had in the Queen of Arendelle's power… she needed to be there, to protect her son from those who would come after him, to make him pay for her sins.

Without meaning too, she wrenched herself forward, biting her lip in frustration as the chains bit into her raw skin, breaking open half-healed scabs. Fresh blood ran down her skin, and she clenched her fists. The chains were enchanted, she knew, for she had tried to break them with magic the minute she'd been put in them, but already, an idea had begun to form in her mind.

It was not one she liked. She would sooner trust in a hunk of wood than Snow White, but when all life handed you was a lemon, you simply had to be careful not to let the juice squirt into your eye.

"How long have you been here, exactly?" she asked, hoping her voice was cordial.

"A year, I think?" said Snow, and the poor dear sounded almost pleased to be having a conversation, despite who it was she was talking too. "I must have made it too easy for Regina, all things considered."

"Your meaning?" asked Maleficent.

"I was a horrible mother to my children and an even worse wife to my husband," said Snow. "Unless she orders the lot of them put to death over dinner, I doubt they'd notice a change, no matter how horribly she behaves." Snow sighed. "It is difficult, to go from a simple girl living with seven dwarves to a queen. The nobles spat on me. The other royals held me in disdain. Then, one day, I realized that those nobles could be stripped of everything they had if I so desired. Those royals? They had no choice but to tolerate me or face my husband's ire. So, I grew cold and vain, secure in my position. A year down here has given me some perspective, but my son would be well within his rights to hate me for all I've put him through, and my daughter… I spoiled her until she was rotten to the core, but she knew how to wrap nobles around her little fingers, and I thought that was all she needed to not go through the same thing I had. I miss them terribly, and my husband too, but he—"

"My dear, you mistake me for somebody who cares for your problems," interrupted Maleficent, unable to listen to a single second of more whining. Goodness, it had just been ten minutes since the conversation had begun, and she could already see why it was that Regina had poisoned the daft creature.

"What I do care for, however, is a way of getting out of this sty," she stated, her voice eerily calm. "Do tell me you're still strong enough to walk. I cannot believe I'm saying this, but if I am to get out of this dungeon, I will be needing your assistance."

* * *

In retrospect, walking into her son's room without knocking had been a mistake, thought Elsa, as she raised an eyebrow at Nick, sitting on the windowseat and so wrapped up in Morgan—which was something she had definitely not seen coming—that he had not even noticed she was standing there, even after she'd cleared her throat a fair few times. On one hand, she was quite happy her son had found someone. On the other hand… she sighed. She had warmed to Morgan, and the fact that he'd saved the lives of both Anna and Morrigan had definitely raised him in her estimation.

It did not change the fact that his mother was Maleficent and that, beneath the surface, there was a darkness in the boy that she sensed and didn't like. Neither would the nobles, all of whom would know him only by his mother's reputation. There were few of them, given that while Arendelle was large, it did not have the largest population, but that only meant that their opinions mattered all the more.

"Nick," she said, louder than she'd intended, thinking it best to rather than wallow in her misgivings.

The two boys sprang apart as though burned, and Nick was red as a tomato as he looked at her. Morgan, for his part, looked as though he wanted the floor to consume him. Not that Elsa blamed him. She remembered the first time that she had kissed Jack… only to turn around and find both Peter Pan and the Godmother sitting on her couch with judging looks on their faces.

She shuddered at the memory.

"Right, so—" she began.

"I'm sorry, Queen—" started Morgan at the same time.

"Mum, I'm happy," said Nick, and just like that, her misgivings faded as if they hadn't been there in the first place. Her son was still blushing furiously, and he wasn't yet meeting her eyes, and his smile may be more nervous than it was happy… but it was genuine, and that was enough for her.

 _To hell with the nobles,_ she thought as she pulled up a chair. They'd given her a right earful when Anna had still been her heir and had married Kristoff, and then they'd given her another earful when Nick had been born, seemingly out of wedlock due to the nature of her marriage to Jack, and both times, she'd very politely reminded them that they only held their power as long as she permitted it. If it came down to it, she'd do it again with a smile on her face, and if that wasn't enough to assuage them… well, she'd just have to make new nobles, wouldn't she?

Long ago, on the night her son had been born, she'd promised herself that his happiness would always come first, and that he'd never have to hide as she had when she'd been young. Until her dying day, she would keep that promise.

"So, when was I going to be told?" she asked, smiling at her son.

"Before you two begin to talk, I just remembered that I need to go… do something," said Morgan, and to her amusement, he was out the door before she had time to blink. No matter, she could corner him later to warn him about hurting her son.

"Mum," groaned Nick, propping his feet up on the cushions his boyfriend had just vacated. "You scared him away."

"I most certainly did not," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "Now, would you do your old mother a favour and tell me about your relationship?"

"It's… new," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I still have a lot of things to figure out, but it's nice, and it makes me happy. I don't know. It might end badly. It might not end at all. It's just… I don't know, Mum. I know you probably don't approve because of who he is, but I don't know..."

"Then I'm glad that you're happy," she replied, sensing the hesitation in his voice. Frowning, she rubbed her fingers together, letting a few snowflakes ghost across the room and settle in his hair, tickling his cheeks on the way. It had never failed to cheer him up when he'd been a child and, by now, it was instinct.

He smiled. "Before Dad visited, I never thought I'd be happy, you know. It sounds silly, because it probably is, and I'm sixteen so what the hell do I really know? But, when I thought about the future, all I saw was some faceless princess at my side, and me just going through the motions. I never…" He trailed off, flushing. "There are some parts of that future that would really embarrass me to share with you, okay, but suffice to say, I don't feel that weight anymore. So, I'm happy. And it's not a faceless princess anymore, but it's not Morgan either. It might well end up being, I don't know. But… just being able to tell you and Dad was huge for me, and now I'm just trying to f—"

"Figure things out," she said with a wan smile. "Nick, it doesn't sound silly." Rising from her chair, she walked over to him and settled down on the window seat, pulling him into a tight hug. For a long while, she just held him, and when she pulled away, she brushed the hair out of his eyes before continuing.

It was time he knew the whole story. She had shared bits of it over the years, but what he'd just told her was enough to let her know that he was finally ready to know.

"Your grandparents didn't have magic," she said. "Your grandmother's sister, Ingrid, did, and she was not a very nice person. And, deep down, I think that just added to their fear when I first showed my powers." She took a deep breath. "When I was very young, there was an accident, and I very nearly killed your Aunt Anna."

He gasped, opening his mouth to say something, but she shushed him with a look. She wanted to finish, to tell him the entire story before having to field any questions.

"That's why she has that lock of white hair. My magic left a scar that can't be healed, and my parents grew even more fearful of what I could do. So, they didn't just isolate me, as I've told you all these years. They locked me in my bedroom, and for nearly a decade, they were the only people I saw, save for the maids who cleaned my room and brought me my food. I was alone, Nick, and when I thought about my future, I didn't see your father, and I didn't, not for a million years, see you. All I saw was me, alone in that room, for the rest of my days."

"Then, they died… and I was distraught. But, and this is my darkest secret, son… I was also glad. At the very bottom of my heart of hearts, I was glad that the people who'd kept me locked in a bedroom all those years were gone. And, the thing is, that isn't all they did. You know the story of my coronation. You know that I nearly killed your Aunt Anna… again… it really is a good thing she doesn't hold a grudge, really, but that's beside the point. When Prince Hans captured me and locked me in the dungeons, there were a special set of chains he used… they had manacles on them that had been custom made to bind my magic. But, the thing is, he couldn't have known he'd be able to capture me, not until he did. Tell me, Nick, where do you think those chains came from?"

"Your parents," he said, in a quiet, horrified voice. "Mum, I'm sorry."

"Nick, you and I are very much the same in some ways. I was alone. For the longest time, I truly was alone, with nobody I thought I could share things with other than myself. But, the difference is that you will never be alone, not as long as you have your family and your friends… not as long as you have me, and I will always be here."

"Mum." He hugged her, burying his head in her shoulder, and she was dimly aware that there were tears in her eyes. Blinking them away, she returned the hug.

"I learned many things in the years after I took the throne, Nick. One of those things, and this is the one thing I hope you will always hold close to your heart and never forget, is that so long as you hold on to hope, you can have any future you want. So, chin up and chase your happy ending, and don't hold back, because even if there comes a day when I disapprove of something you do, know that your happiness supersedes that."

"You really are the best mum in the world," he said, tightening his hug.

She chuckled, running a hand down his back. "Only because I have the best son in the world."

* * *

"The healers say that she'll be making a full recovery in time," said his mother, running a hand down his shoulder. "But, for now, you should get some rest. There's no telling when she'll wake."

Ali nodded, still feeling numb as he reached up to squeeze his mother's hand. He had woken that morning, his fever broken, feeling as though he'd never been ill in the first place. As he stared down at Aquaria's palid face, he wished that the last few days had not happened, and that he was still the one who was dying. No… she wasn't dying, not now that she'd been tended, but his father had said that she'd come very close.

"Ali, please, you're worrying us. Just a short nap, for me."

"I can sleep in the chair," he replied.

His mother sighed before taking the hint and leaving, and as soon as she was gone, Ali leaned back in his chair. Reaching out to take Aquaria's hand, he sighed. Beneath the sheets, she was wrapped in so many bandages that it was difficult to know exactly how grievous her injuries could be, but he could hazard a guess. What she had done, exactly, he didn't know, but that was not what was important.

"Why?" he asked, knowing he wouldn't get a response. "Why?"

In the back of his mind, he already knew the answer. She had done it for him, just as he would have had it been her who'd been dying of a curse. But, she had done it for more than just him. She was a hero. The canals of Agrabah ran with fresh water, the locusts that had ravaged the city's grain supplies had disappeared, as had the stinging insects and frogs, and the livestock had stopped dying of pestilence. She had saved his kingdom.

She, Aquaria Starshells, had acted as though Agrabah was her own kingdom and saved it, just as Sultanah would… He swallowed.

And, beyond all of that, she had saved his life.

The door opened, and Rajah padded in. The aged tiger purred as he came to stand beside Ali and rested his furry head in his lap. Without needing to think about it, Ali acted on instinct and reached down to scratch behind Rajah's ears. Just as Aquaria had saved him, Rajah had saved her, according to his father. The tiger had found her, barely alive and drenched in blood, and roared loud enough to bring half the palace to his bedroom.

"Thank you, Rajah," said Ali, not for the first time. The tiger purred before shifting, peering at the bed before sticking out his head and licking Aquaria's fingers. It was one of the reasons Ali had always known that she was the only girl for him—Rajah did not take kindly to strangers, and yet, he had warmed to her as if he had known her all his life.

Even when he didn't trust his own heart, Ali knew that he trusted Rajah's.

Her fingers twitched, startling him from his reverie, and he was attentive at once. Reaching out to gently draw Rajah away, he grasped her hand. She returned his grip, however faintly, and he felt something in him snap at the gesture. Aquaria would be fine. She was still fighting, but she'd be fine.

He was not aware that he was crying until he felt Rajah's tongue against his cheek, and he buried his face in the tiger's fur. It was comforting. All the worry and exhaustion was still there, still painfully present, but with Rajah at his side, he felt safe, secure in the knowledge that Aquaria would wake and that they'd be fine… because since the first time he'd scraped a knee as a young child and had the tiger tend to him, he knew that he'd always be fine so long as he had the tiger at his side.

He must have fallen asleep, because when he stirred, he was no longer on his chair. Instead, he was lying on the rug beside Aquaria's bed. Rajah must kept him from falling, he realized, as he noted that the tiger was still there, acting as his pillow. Stifling a yawn, he climbed to his feet and paused when he saw his father in the doorway, watching him with a strange expression.

"Dad?" he asked, stretching to get the stiffness out of his limbs.

"I was just debating whether or not I'd be able to carry you to your bedroom," replied his father. "It shouldn't be too hard. You lost a lot of weight while you were ill."

"Not like I could help it," he retorted with a frown. He was well aware that the gold bands he usually wore around his wrists and ankles were looser than usual, and he didn't even want to consider how ill-fitting his chestplate would be should he put on his armor.

"No, you could not, but never worry my like that again," said Aladdin, coming to sit on the floor beside the bed. Glancing as Aquaria as he did so, a wan smile flashed across his face. "You have no idea how close your mother and I were to doing the unthinkable before she did what she did. She was right. I would love to have her as a daughter-in-law."

"What were you and mum going to do?" asked Ali, feeling a slight weight leave his chest upon receiving his father's blessing.

His father sighed. "We were offered a deal. An end to the plagues, including your safety… and your mother and I would become Faceless."

Ali felt his jaw drop, but before he could react, his father had pulled him into a one-armed hug.

"Don't say anything," he said, "But yes, we would have done it for you. So, don't say anything. Let me just enjoy a night of knowing my son is alive and well before I have to deal with tomorrow's problems."

* * *

The hulking monstrosity was four times her size, a golem of various corpses stitched together into some sort of eldritch abomination. It had four mouths and seven limbs, and it held four large cleavers in it many hands, all of which had different numbers of fingers, and the smell was abysmal. Maggots and pus dripped from its body, and the only thing that held it together were the dozen-or-so strings stitching it together.

With a swing of her sword, Mulan cut it in two. Her blade bit through flesh and rotted bone, and it lay in pieces on the ground, still twitching until she stabbed it through its single yellowed eye. No sooner than she had dispatched of the monster did a second Hollow One appear, looming over her and looking more disgusting than the last.

"Sound the retreat," she yelled as she ducked beneath it and, with a swing of her sword, spilled its intestines across the floor. "There are two many of them."

Chien-Po sounded the horn. Nodding at her old comrade, she fell back with the rest of the defenders. There were less than a hundred of them left, but the imperial palace still stood, and the walls had not yet been breached. She prayed that reinforcements from the council would arrive soon… even she could not hold out against such an army forever.

As the gates slammed shut, three of the imperial soldiers began nailing heavy beams into place. This was the last sortie she could lead into the grounds… their numbers were too few, and too many of her comrades had fallen. As of this moment, they were under siege. Swallowing, she glanced around the courtyard, hoping that her friends had made it. Chien-Po was fine, at the very least, but she could see no sign of Yao or Ling.

"They're gone," said Chien-Po, coming to stand behind her. He was still a gentle giant of a man, and his voice was heavy as he patted her shoulder. "I didn't see how, but they're not here."

She nodded, blinking away tears. She would not cry. She had not wept for her husband or her sons, and she would not weep for her friends. She was a soldier of the Imperium, and her tears would not bring back the fallen. Her sword, however, would grant them solace in their cold graves.

"How long do you think we can hold?" she asked, changing the topic as she led them to the stairwell. From the ramparts, she'd be able to get a better look at the situation. They were surrounded, she knew, but the walls of the Imperial Palace were thick and strong, and any attack would have to come from the south if the Hollow Ones wished to break through the main gate.

"A week if we're lucky," he replied morosely. "Less if we aren't. A castle's walls are only as strong as those who man them, and we are exhausted."

"The Emperor once told me that a single grain of rice may tip the scales, and that one man may make the difference between victory and defeat," she said, coming to stand beside the large bed-crossbows mounted upon the walls. "We will hold so long as there is a sword in my hand."

Gazing out across the fields surrounding the Imperial Palace, she saw the hulking army of Hollow Ones. There were hundreds of them, if not thousands, but there was still no sign of the man leading the invasion. Before the attack had come, the last messengers had spoken of him: a ghastly sorcerer clad in robes of black and red, who could transform into a monstrous serpent at will.

She had the displeasure of meeting Jafar, but she knew enough to have recognised him by that description alone. He was not a patient man, she knew, and soon enough, he would show up to lead the charge. When he did, he would die. There were no seers or diviners left amongst their ranks, nobody to challenge his magic, so it would fall to her to somehow slay him. If she did not, then they were lost.

It was all right, she told herself. She had faced worse odds before, and she had lived to tell the tale. Just as the thought crossed her mind, there was a large bellow, and the Hollow Ones charged.

"Soldiers of the Imperium," she said in a loud voice to gather their attention, turning around to gaze out over the courtyard. It was a mess of tents and bandaged soldiers, wounded horses, and crates filled with weapons. Flies buzzed across the surface of the many bloody puddles, and from the infirmary that had been set up within the palace, she could hear the screams of the dying.

"To your stations," bellowed Chien-Po.

The next hour passed by in a whirlwind. She was on the battlements, firing a bow until her fingers felt ready to bleed, but for every Hollow One she felled, another rose to take its place. Their bodies piled up against the castle walls, but the ones that came after paid the corpses no mind. Instead, they used them as stepping stones, piling themselves into a makeshift set of steps for their fellows to use to assail the walls.

Boiling oil and fire rained from the walls, and the bed-crossbows twanged a steady rhythm as they let fly their massive bolts. The sun had begun to set, and still the attack continued. When she ran out of arrows, Mulan turned to the large pile of rocks that had been placed near the guard tower, and began to lob them off the walls as hard as she could.

Her arms ached, and her breath came in short pants, but she refused to give up. She was a soldier, and her strength was that of a raging fire. It would not flicker or wane, no matter the odds. Swift as a coursing river, with all the force of a great typhoon… that was what her training had granted her, and she would not quail.

Jafar arrived as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Marching to the front of his army, he lashed out with his staff, letting coils of red light flash through the air. The bolts aimed at him twisted into gargantuan serpents in midair, whirling around and spitting venom as they joined her foe's ranks. Jafar sneered as Mulan spat in his direction.

He thrust out his staff and the great wooden doors of the palace shattered into a thousand splinters, and as he approached, the Hollow Ones followed. Drawing her sword, Mulan took the stairs two-at-a-time, leaping down the last six or so just as he walked in through the rubble. Bringing her blade down in a lethal swing, she glared as he raised his staff to deflect the blow, a cold smirk on his face.

"Aaah," he proclaimed. "The most precious lotus of the Imperium… come to die at last."

"I would not call you a precious lotus," she retorted. "But, I agree. You have come to die at last. Now, let's get down to business."

Charging him, she ducked under the swirl of red light that burst from his staff, and her sword glimmered in the firelight as he aimed for his knees. He leapt up, striking at her with his staff, and she darted away from the swing, slamming her open palm against his chest as she did so. He stumbled, eyes livid, but taking advantage of his momentary lack of balance, she slashed at his face.

Jafar howled as he leapt backwards in a spray of blood, her blade having sliced through his cheek and nose. Clutching at the cut, he raised his staff into the air, and a dozen fireballs burst forth. She rolled out of the way, and as she got to her feet, the first thing she saw was Chien-Po, locked in combat with a Hollow One.

Her friend swung his axe a fraction of a second too late, and the beast's cleaver burning itself in his skull.

Eyes widening and heart aching, Mulan glanced about for Jafar. There would be time to mourn later. Right now, she had to fight. Her eyes falling on the sorcerer, she charged, noting that he was not looking at her, his attention fixed instead on a trio of soldiers who'd snuck up on him whilst she'd kept him busy.

Swinging her sword at his throat, the familiar thrill of victory raced through her… and then he whirled and she gasped as the sudden agonizing punch to her gut, and when she looked down, she saw that he'd stabbed her with the blade of his staff. Her sword fell from her fingers as she grasped the staff right where it entered her, feeling her blood ooze through her fingers as she did so, and she looked up at Jafar's serpentine eyes.

"You should be honoured, Fa Mulan." He leered. "Nobody in living memory has made me bleed."

She spat in his face as he thrust the staff in deeper, and black spots danced in her vision as it tore out through her back. Her legs went limp immediately, and as she felt her eyelids flicker, she reached for the dagger in her belt. With all the strength she had left, she lashed out, and though the wound she landed on him was not a lethal one, at least his slashed cheeks now matched.

Jafar wrenched out his staff and she fell, the world going dark around her as she fell.

.0.

The lights of Arendelle flickered in the distance, too far away for his rider to see, but he was a dragon, and his sight was far clearer. As he flew, his mighty wings beating at his sides, a jolt ran through his body.

 _Mulan…_

Mushu's agonized roar rose to shake the heavens.


	12. The Devil Wears Fur

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

 **The Devil Wears Fur**

* * *

There was a dull thud as something landed in her cell. Sniffing the air, Maleficent curled her lip in disdain. The iron dust was still thick in the air, but the stench of bloody fowl lingered beneath it. Evidently, her captors had decided she was to be fed today, not that she would eat the putrid thing. It stank as though it had been dead for days, and though her stomach rumbled, she refused to stoop to the levels of eating carrion.

She was a dragon, and starvation could not kill a dragon. It only served to make her angrier.

"Come along, Mally," said Damon De Vil, and she could just picture his smug grin. "Be a good girl and eat your breakfast. If you're good, I'll let you have dessert."

"When I get out of this cell, I'll take great delight in prying each of those perfect white teeth from youth pretty little mouth with a pair of rusty thongs, and I will laugh as you scream for mercy," she replied, shifting slightly to adjust her manacles. If they remained pressed against one portion of her skin for too long, her skin would melt away entirely, and that was a recuperation process she did not feel up too at this very moment.

"Feisty, just how I like them," replied Damon. The door to her cell creaked open, and the sound of sharp footsteps against the dusty ground. As he came to rest beside her, something slid over her face, and she snarled.

"Oh, grow up," he added. "They're just goggles so you can look at my handsome face while you starve."

Hesitantly, she opened her eyes. If this was a trap, she would be in for a great deal of pain, but if it wasn't, then it would be nice to look upon the face of her captor. Faces were easy to commit to memory, and she had a feeling that she would be remembering Damon for a very long time… She wouldn't kill him, not quite. But, he would wish he was dead when she was done with him; of that much, she was certain.

As her eyes adjusted to the light of her cell, she realized he had been telling the truth. The goggles kept the worst of the iron out of her eyes, and despite the way they obscured her precise vision, she could see him very well. He was a handsome youth in his early twenties, his features as perfect as though they had been precisely crafted to emphasise his looks, and judging by his mother, they had been. It would not surprise her if the De Vil twins had been under a cosmetic healer's knife a fair few times despite their youth, crafting themselves into what they considered the perfect specimens of humanity.

The hair, however, was how she would remember him. His hair was parted down the middle, and the right side was blacker than coal, whilst the left was whiter than snow. In all the world, there were only three people with hair quite like that, and she would personally see that by the time she was done, there were none.

"Surprise, Mally," he said, adjusting his fur coat with gloved hands. "Did you expect something a tad more devilish?"

"To be honest, I expected more in general," she replied, a smirk playing about her lips. At the back of her throat, she nursed a spark of her flames. Iron may burn, but a dragon burned hotter, and she still had a fair few tricks left in her despite her somewhat humiliating incarceration.

He chuckled, reaching for the chicken. Without hesitation, he pressed it against her face, and she glared at the noxious smell invading her nostrils. The bloody thing was tinged green, she realized in revolt, and the blood that smeared across her lips was stale and foul.

As he pulled the bird away, she spat out a fireball. He reacted quicker than she'd thought, darting out of the way in time to receive only a singed fur coat, and as he got to his feet, he snarled. The grin slipped from his face as though it had never been there, and his expression grew twisted and feral.

She didn't expect him to kick her, but the force of his iron-tipped boot against her chest knocked the wind out of her all the same. She coughed, glaring as he yanked her by the hair, his eyes gleaming with the same madness that possessed his mother as he pulled back his fist and punched her in the jaw. _Damn him, and damn this iron._

"Is that anyway to behave, Mally?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow and letting her fall to the ground. "Very rude. I wonder what your son will say when I mention it to him."

"If you value your life, you will not threaten my son, scum," she retorted, spitting, the manacles biting into her wrists and ankles. "You have no idea of whom you are dealing with."

"Thing is," he said, crouching beside her and grasping her on either side of her face. "I do. And, I also know that you're not going anywhere. It's funny, isn't it? I have no powers, and yet here I am, and here you are, and I can do anything I want to you, and all you can do is threaten me until you're blue in the face. Lovely, isn't it?"

He patted her cheek in a patronizing manner, leaning in so that his breath washed over her face. It reeked of cigar smoke and gin, and it took everything she had in her not to spit out another fireball, this time right into his mouth.

"Don't you worry about Morgan, Mally. See, Renata's going to be paying Arendelle a visit soon to get something from their treasury, and don't look at me like that, we already have our way in. Keep pissing me off, and I might just go along to make myself some new dragonskin boots."

Maleficent chuckled, unable to help herself. There were many people in this world who could threaten her son, people who were actually dangerous. She knew her son, and she'd trained him to fight from the time he'd been old enough to wield a sword. Damon De Vil was a vicious idiot, and the thought of him attacking her son was nothing short of amusing.

"Funny, is it?" he asked. "Let's not forget, Mally, that's he all alone in that draughty castle, and his only ally is locked right here in front of me. Myself, though? I'll be taking back-up. You remember my twin sister, Dominique, I'm sure? Gorgeous girl, beautiful breasts and fuckable lips? She's a chip off the old block, really, and our daddy hunted dragons for sport."

As he got to his feet and left the cell, he leaned against Snow's cell and chuckled. "You still sure you won't join 'Nique and I tonight, beautiful? I promise, our other pets don't even feel it after the first few incisions."

"I would sooner chew broken glass," replied Snow.

"Suit yourself," he said. "But, 'Nique says if you want to eat anything other than dry bread this week, you'll get over scruples of using blood for lubricant and take our offer." With that, he left, and Maleficent shuddered at the mental image he'd just put into her head.

Maleficent ignored the twinge of fear she felt for her son at her reminder of the twins' father, and she suppressed the disdain at the De Vil twins' disgusting bedroom proclivities. Instead, she smirked as she felt for the silver pin she'd plucked from Damon's vest as he'd been beating her and, her smirk deepening, she slowly slid it into the keyhole of her manacles.

* * *

Cruella always loved the smell of brimstone in the morning.

Grimhilde Keep was a ghastly place, but there was promise in the dank walls and draughty corridors. It would take a fresh coat of paint, new windows and mouldings for the ceiling, and all the furniture in the place would need to be burned and replaced. Then, they'd need a few nice throw-pillows, some animal skin rugs, a few heads mounted on the wall… Cruella rolled her eyes. Who was she kidding? This place was such a dump that not even her expert touch could save it, and the sooner she could return to her chateau in Elëadoré, the better.

It would just be for a few more weeks, she knew. Once Jafar and Odile were done with their respective roles, and as soon as Regina and Tremayne were done with their jobs, she could return home. It was ridiculous that she was expected to act as a gaoler to a gormless queen and a cantankerous old dragon, but her new acquaintance had promised her a crown when this was all over, and she quite liked the idea of one.

Her heels clicked along the stone floors as she made her way through the halls, her fur coat keeping off the worst of the chill. It was a beautiful thing, her coat, thick and warm, and sewing it had been a labour of love. She'd wrung the necks of each of those gorgeous little puppies herself, and her hands had been stained red for the days by the time she was done skinning them all herself.

She was expecting company tonight, and she had to make sure her children were decent. They were such randy little tykes, but she had work to do, and considering that their father may be in attendance this evening, it wouldn't do for them to be anything less than perfect. The devil alone knew what she saw in the man, but he was rather good in the sack.

Not bothering to knock when she came to the door, she walked into the room and raised an eyebrow. Her son was all but naked, and her daughter's breasts were on full display. Between them lay some blonde piece from the nearest village, though it looked like they'd been a bit to rough on her, given that the girl didn't appear to be breathing. What a shame. She had the most immaculate nose, even if the rest of her left much to be desired.

Oh well, kids would be kids, and who was she to get in the way of their fun.

"Must the two of you break your toys so often?" she asked, digging about her clutch for a cigarette. Damon tossed her a lighter, and she rolled her eyes at his bad manners before taking a deep drag of her cigarette, letting the acrid smoke warm her throat before she exhaled.

"They're just so fragile, Mummy," said Dominique, climbing out of bed and slipping into her robe. Damon just smirked, nudging the dead girl out of the bed before stretching and pulling the sheets over his legs and crotch.

"They make them sturdier back home," he added with a wink. "When can we leave this sty, Mummy? I've been growing quite bored these past few weeks."

"Yes, I can see that," replied Cruella. "Now, perhaps the two of you could wash the blood of yourselves and get dressed. I might die of shame if my new acquaintance saw the pair of you looking so ruffled."

As she turned on her heel and made her way out the door, she paused beside the dresser. Grasping the silk scarf that had been haphazardly tossed across the perfume bottles, she tossed it over her shoulder. "Damon, be a dear and wear this over your neck. Those love bites look ghastly with your complexion."

"Of course, Mummy," he replied, and with that, she left. It was so nice when one's children were close, especially when they were both such marvellous specimens of beauty. It was good that they were obedient as well… birthing them had done been quite the chore, and the pregnancy alone had been a terrible sacrifice on her part. They owed her for destroying her body… even after all these years, there was no getting rid of the stretch marks left by twins.

Making her way to the dining room, she was pleased to see that Renata had taken her advice and decorated the place in such a pleasing fashion. It really was a wonder what the girl could do on short notice, and she'd have to ask Regina if she could borrow her now and then. It wasn't as if The Evil Queen had much use for her daughter, at any rate, given that she was out having all the fun whilst Renata had been left to tend Grimhilde.

"The guests should be arriving shortly," said Renata, stepping into the room.

"Splendid, Darling," said Cruella, giving the young woman a good once over. She had too many freckles and her eyes were just a bit too wide for her face, but it was nothing a bit of magical surgery couldn't fix. The dress, at least, was gorgeous… though Cruella knew it would look much better on her.

"Will the twins be joining us for dinner?" asked Renata, and Cruella did not care for the distasteful glint in the girl's eye.

"As soon as they are cleaned up," she replied, tossing the remains of her cigarette into the nearest ashtray before fishing about her clutch for another. "Will you be a dear and deal with their latest pet? I'm afraid she's quite… used up."

Renata's lip curled in disgust. Mercifully, she remained silent as she made her way to the door, though she paused at the door. Looking over the shoulder, she looked Cruella with a firm glare, which Cruella also did not care for. If she was to borrow the girl to help her about the chateau, then it was important that she see that Regina properly disciplined the brat first. Perhaps making a hat out of that disgusting owl she kept would make for a good lesson.

"Does it not bother to you that your children..." Renata paused, looking thoughtful. "As Damon puts it, fuck each other nine ways to Sunday on a daily basis? It does seem rather… unorthodox."

"Oh, Darling," replied Cruella, rolling her eyes as she took a seat at the head of the table. "They're brother and sister, not some unibrow and a paste-eater, and they both have the most delightful personalities I have ever seen. I could think of nobody more suitable for either of them." Her eyes flashed in the torchlight. "Besides, Darling, eugenics are everything when you look as fabulous as a De Vil."

* * *

Odile was not comfortable with being around so many failures. At the head of the table sat Cruella, whose claim to fame had been the merciless slaughter of several puppies. Dominique and Damon sat on either side of their mother, and though the two of them had a reputation as excellent torturers, they'd not toppled any kingdoms or the like. Then, there was Ursula, who her master had summoned from the murky depths… the wheezing broad had been taken out by a teenage mermaid, a hermit crab, and a flounder if memory served. Prince Eric may have helped matters to some extent, but it did not change the fact that Ursula was rather useless, in Odile's opinion.

Of course, there was still Renata Queen, who lived to be her mother's lackey, and Prince Hans, who was not really a prince so much as a disgraced rebel with a motley band of pirates at his back. Mother Gothel had come as well, though judging her current state of inebriation, she wasn't really there at all.

These were the people her master believed would be suitable accomplices in their quest for revenge. Not that Odile would mention her disapproval to his face, given that he terrified her, but surely this was just setting themselves up for failure. Recruiting Jafar had been one thing… he'd all but brought Agrabah to its knees with a single wish, and if the reports were to be believed, he was making a good show of things in the Imperium. But… these useless, washed up hags couldn't take down an infant princess if the child was left unguarded, let alone a council comprised of the most powerful royals in the known world.

Remaining silent, she turned her attention back to her dinner. The veal was a far cry from her favoured flesh, the juicy fillets of swan that she could come by so easily in the Old Oloria, but it would do, she supposed. Slicing into the meat, she winced at Ursula's harsh cackle.

"My goodness," said Ursula. "Is Maleficent really here in the dungeons? I should dearly love to see that."

"I assure you that she is, Darling," replied Cruella, dabbing at her chin with a napkin. "The foolish woman thought to throw her lot in with the council, hadn't you heard, and now look where she is?"

"Surely she would not be so stupid?" said Prince Hans, nursing his wine. "Even if she despises the lot of us, what could she gain by helping _them_? It's utterly ridiculous, if you ask me."

"Believe it or not, Hansy," said Dominique, her eyes dark with lust as she leaned across the table to rest a hand on his chest. "But, apparently, she did it for her brat. I've never met the boy, but from what Renata tells me, he'd make for the perfect pair of boots, gloves, and maybe a belt. Purple scales, you know… it's so hard to find dragon-skin in that particular shade. Maybe you could hold him down whilst I skin him in front of his mother?"

"My dear, you are as revolting as you are beautiful," said Hans, pulling away from her with a wary glance in his eye. "Perhaps we could change the topic to something more pertinent?"

"Oh, why would you call my sweet sister revolting, Prince Hans?" asked Damon, raising an eyebrow. "I assure you, she is the sweetest fruit in the forbidden garden." His smirk was dark, and his eyes were darker, and even though Odile knew she could likely take him down with a flick of her wrist, she shuddered. Damon De Vil was not the sort of man she would like to meet in a dark alley, unhinged as he was behind that perfectly sculpted face.

Even if she were to take him out, Odile suspected she'd need to plunge a wooden stake sanctified by Tsar Luna and the Godmother before being dipped in holy water from Notre Dame into his black heart just to make sure he stayed down.

When the familiar chill of her master's arrival washed over the room, Odile could not help but feel grateful. No matter how much he terrified her, she couldn't deny that he was a lot more accomplished than this sorry lot of fools. How her father would weep to see how far she had fallen… _Oh, Daddy,_ _I'll make you proud, just you wait and see._

Her master stepped out of the shadows, and the room fell silent as he glided across the room to stand beside Cruella. Leaning over her, he glared, and his eyes were two red pools as he cleared his throat.

"Move," he said, and to her surprise, Cruella scarpered out of her seat as though it was on fire.

Taking a seat, her master steepled his fingers beneath his chin and beamed at them all. "My dear friends," he said, holding out his hands in evident delight. "I bring you all the very best of news. First, we must fill our glasses, for a toast is in order."

Odille smiled at the looks of discomfort shared around the table: even Damon, for all his degenerated bravado was glancing at her master with a wary glint in his eyes, and Dominique looked ready to sink into the ground. It really was marvellous. Filling her glass with wine, she smiled and waited.

"I have just received word from Jafar. Mulan is dead. Furthermore, Regina has been in touch, and my plan for Renvale is proceeding much better than expected. Christopher Charming should arrive in Amoré within the week, just in time for Odile to do something right for a change." He smirked, raising his wine glass, and though Odile felt as though she had just been slapped across the face, she raised hers as well.

"It would be an honour, Master," she said, inclining her head.

All around the table, the assorted council of uselessness toasted, save for Cruella, who still looked rather put out. A sneer on her face, she rose to her feet, a cigarette bobbing between her lips.

"So? One miserable wench is dead, and we're supposed to celebrate? What should I care if the Charming boy is being shipped off to that Beast's den? You should have sent me to Renvale! The entire family would be mittens by now."

Her master rose, growing in size until he loomed over the table. Cocking his head to the left, he frowned and reached out to flick a finger in Cruella's direction. With a sharp cry, she went flying through the hair, spinning twice before slamming into the wall. In an instant, Dominique and Damon were on their feet, knives glimmering in their hands. Her master rolled his eyes, and their eyes grew black as midnight. Letting out moans of despair, they slumped to the ground, feebly twitching.

"Anyone else?" he asked, settling back down in his chair. "Or may I assign you your roles?"

"We're listening," said Gothel, who had until this point been silent. Odile thought the old witch looked quite pleased to see Cruella put in her place, but there was bad blood between the pair, and to be perfectly honest, she doubted anyone at the table cared enough about the De Vils to rise in their defence.

"Very well," he said. "With Agrabah still reeling from Odile's failure, we can count them out of any future conflicts. Lady Tremayne is ready to move in Eleadoré, and that will spell the end of any attempts by Queen Cinderella or her husband from sending forth their armies. In Renvale, Regina is all but ready to stage a tragic accident that will rob King Charming of his life, and with his heir so tragically taken from him in Amoré, it will fall to her to rule until Princess Margaret comes of age."

"If we could get to the point," said Hans, clearing his throat.

"Would you care to join Cruella?" replied Odile on her master's behalf, gesturing to the woman in the corner of the room. It seemed she had been knocked out by the blow to the head, but seeing as there was no blood, it would work out for the best.

"Thank you, Odile," said her master with an approving nod in her direction. "As I was saying, we have already neutralised one kingdom and are ready to overthrow two others. So, if one of you may be so kind, please tell me who is left to reinforce the tattered remains of the Imperium's soldiers as they desperately retreat from village to village?"

"Queen Elsa will not take this lightly," said Hans, raising an eyebrow. "Arendelle's armies will most definitely be on the move, and despite my loathing for the woman, she is no slouch. Jafar may well have his hands full if she takes the field."

"A most interesting point," replied her master. "Very good, Hans, it would seem you have some intelligence after all. When I heard how you tried to overthrow her the first time, I must say I had my doubts. But, what is a queen without a kingdom? If the bulk of her strength is fighting Jafar in the Imperium, Arendelle will be virtually defenseless."

"They say her son inherited her powers," Hans retorted. "He will no doubt be sitting his mother's throne in her absence."

"I trust you can handle a boy of sixteen, Prince Hans?" Her master sneered. "Besides, Renata and the De Vil twins will be breaking into the castle quite soon to recover something very precious to me from the castle vaults. Leave the boy to them."

"Very well," replied Hans, still looking uncertain. "My men and I will attack the city at your word."

"Good, and you can take a few of my Hollow Ones for insurance, just to be safe. Now, does anyone else have anything to add?"

"If Arendelle is attacked, Corona will rise up in their defence," pointed out Gothel. "The queens are cousins, and they are very dear to each other."

"The human heart is a beautiful thing, Gothel," replied her master. "Once my plans for Amoré come to fruition, Corona will have its own problems to worry about. How would you like to get even with your dearest daughter, Rapunzel, by the way?"

Gothel nodded, and her master turned to Ursula.

"Despite Odile's failure in Agrabah, she did succeed in taking Princess Aquaria out of the running. Her mother and father will also commit to the war in the Imperium, of that there is no doubt. Atlantica will be ripe for the taking with only a senile old crab, a dozen withered princesses, and a few knights left to hold the place. Be ready for my command."

He rose to his feet and smiled, extending his hands.

"Rejoice, my friends. Our enemies will fall like dominoes, one by one, and you all will finally have the happily ever afters you deserve." He fixed his gaze on Odile, and she shuddered, because she knew that look very well. It was the same look her father had worn whenever he had gone about his ploys, and it told her all she needed to know.

Jafar was still in the Imperium, after all, and despite the great service he had provided her master, it was clear that there would be no more aid send his way. He had already accomplished his mission, and she was under no illusions. Against the combined wrath of both Queen Elsa and Queen Ariel, Jafar stood a snowball's chance in hell…

Each of them in this room was expendable, as far as her master was concerned. As much as the thought worried her, she knew that she would survive this. All she had to do was not fail again, and prove that she was useful enough to keep around on a more permanent basis.

* * *

"Do you really have to go?"

Elsa felt a hand squeeze her chest as she looked up from her desk to see her son standing in the doorway, worrying at his lip with his teeth and frowning. She had hoped to speak to him before he found out from somebody else, but gathering the armies of Arendelle with as much haste as she currently needed had taken up much more of her time than she'd anticipated, as had sending missives to every other royal in the land.

"How did you find out?" she asked, for the answer was in evidence all around her study. Her clothes had been packed, dozens of letters were left unopened from those royals who'd been able to reply in time, and her armor was sitting on her bed, freshly polished by the castle armorer.

"Cornelius mentioned that you'd probably have to go deal with the Imperium's troubles when I saw him off at the docks after lunch, and you've just confirmed it. If I had to guess based on Aunt Rapunzel's expression, Uncle Eugene will be leading the armies of Corona?"

"Actually," said Elsa, "Corona will not be partaking in this war. I'll be linking up with King Eric and Queen Ariel near the Echo Isles, and we'll be joined in the Imperium by forces from Renvale and Somnia. Considering what just happened in Agrabah, Rapunzel and I do not think it wise to leave our part of the world without a standing army at this time."

"But, can't Uncle Kristoff go?" asked Nick, taking a seat across from her. There was a pleading look in his eyes, and her heart broke at the thought that she was hurting him. Still, she couldn't help it. For the safety of their world, she had to be a queen right now, and the duties of a queen were, for once, superior to the duties of a mother.

"I am stronger than Kristoff, and I have more experience fighting the Hollow Ones," she replied, her voice soft. "Nick, you must be strong in my absence. I intend for you to rule as Prince Regent until then."

"Me?" he asked. Surprise replaced the concern on his face, and he nearly fell off his chair at her words. "Surely Aunt Anna would be better at the job?"

"Perhaps," replied Elsa, "Which is why she has already promised to assist you in whatever way she can, as has your Uncle Kristoff. Nick, you are my son and my heir. In these dark times, it is best you sit my throne whilst I am away, so that the people are reminded that there is stability."

"How long until you return, then?" he replied, and she was glad that he had taken her request in stride.

"A few months," she said, rising from her seat and walking around her desk until she stood beside him. Kneeling down beside his chair, she smiled as she brushed the hair out of his eyes. A strange sentimentality welled in her as she looked at him. This was the first time she had gone to war since Old Oloria, and Nick had still been six at the time, to young to worry about her as he now did.

"I love you," she said, embracing him. "And I have faith in your abilities to rule."

"I love you too, Mum," he replied, "And I have faith in your abilities to kick ass."

She chuckled, gripping him tighter. War had come to their world, sooner than she would have liked, but no matter the odds, she knew that she would be victorious. After all, she had something that the enemy would never have, could never have.

Something worth fighting for.

* * *

"How are you handling everything?" asked Morgan as he walked into his boyfriend's bedroom, eager to put as much distance between him and the sobbing imperial girl as possible. Lady Yuë had arrived a few days ago on the back of a dragon… a bit of a puny dragon, if Morgan was being honest, nearly half the size of his mother, but a dragon nonetheless. Since arriving, she'd spent the entirety of her stay in tears, and Morgan had just managed to escape her after dinner.

Comforting people, even people who looked as though they really needed a bit of sympathy, had never been his forté. It was likely Princess Anna would do a better job anyway.

"It's odd to be in charge," replied Nick, glancing up from his desk. There was a small pile of paperwork in front of him, and his hands were stained with ink. "Mother rarely leaves Arendelle, and when she does, I'm usually with her."

"She'll be back before you even know she was gone," replied Morgan, coming to stand behind his boyfriend. Peering at the ledger in front of Nick, his head began to hurt. Numbers were a pain at the best of times, but they were a nightmare after the day they'd had.

"I know," said Nick with a sigh. "I'm still allowed to worry."

"Is the situation in the Imperium truly that bad?" he asked, resting a hand on Nick's shoulder as he spoke.

"You heard Yuë," replied Nick. "For all we know, the Imperium may already be lost to us, the same as Old Oloria. I'm trying not to think about my mother having to face the Hollow Ones… but she's done it before, and I know she's one of the strongest woman in the world, so there really shouldn't be any—"

"Nick," he said softly, squeezing his boyfriend's shoulder. "You're rambling."

"How do you keep it together?" Nick asked, spinning his chair around so that he was facing him. "It's been ages since you've seen your mother, and her job isn't any safer than the hell my mother is about to descend into."

Morgan swallowed. Nick raised a fair point, but he tried not to think about it too much. The tides of war had washed upon their shores, and their parents had all rushed to the frontlines. It was difficult not to worry, not now that Queen Elsa herself had deemed it important to go to the front lines. Cornelius had tried to keep their spirits up before he and his parents had taken their leave, but even the Prince of Corona hadn't quite been himself since Yuë had arrived...

"It's hard," he replied. "If I'm being honest, you've been the one helping keep my mind of things."

"Have I?" asked Nick, raising an eyebrow. "I've been a bundle of nerves myself these past few weeks, and saying goodbye to my mother frayed a few more of them, to be honest."

"It's hard to worry about anything when you kiss me," said Morgan, flushing at the admission. Averting his gaze from the grin on Nick's face, he rolled his eyes. One day, those dimples would be the death of him. "If you're up for it, maybe I could take your mind of everything for a bit?

"The kissing is nice," Nick admitted, "And I'm really glad that we finally figured out what to do with our hands so you're not playing with my ears anymore, but I was thinking maybe tonight we could just talk?"

Rising up from his chair, Nick leaned in to quickly peck him on the lips before walking off towards his bed. Morgan swallowed, not quite liking where this was going, but he followed nonetheless. Kissing was nice, and so was holding hands and sharing little titbits about the other, but doing nothing but talking?

There were things Morgan didn't think he was ready for Nick to know, but there was also something about the way his boyfriend looked at him whenever they spoke that made him want to confess his entire life's story. It was a paradox, and not one he particularly enjoyed, but it was still just a small hiccup as they learned their way around each other.

"So, what are you thinking? Favourite colour, favourite food, favourite day of the week?" he asked, forcing a smirk to his face.

"I'd like that, actually," said Nick, flopping down onto his bed. Folding his arms behind his head, he smiled. "What do you think we should talk about?"

"Maybe we could start small?" asked Morgan, glancing at the empty side of the bed, feeling rather cautious. It looked a lot more comfortable than the chair, but he wasn't comfortable with getting into bed with his boyfriend. Sure, Nick didn't really seem the type to push things, but he didn't want to take any chances.

He really liked Nick, as both a friend and more than a friend… but he wanted to take things slow, not just to make sure things didn't end badly, but because, and it wasn't easy to admit, even to himself, but he didn't think he was ready for things to get physical. Not with Nick, not with anyone. He swallowed, wondering if he was overthinking things.

It wasn't getting a bit frisky that made him nervous, though there was that… but he also knew that if he took of his shirt, the scars crisscrossing his back would be perfectly visible, and he didn't want to see Nick looking at him with pity when he explained how he got them. He blinked, still staring at that empty half of the bed. He probably was overthinking this, wasn't he? Or, was he actually being smart about things?

He just didn't know. Everything about this was new to him… Friendship… Dating… Kissing...

"Morgan? You okay?"

He started, shaking himself at his boyfriend's question. Making up his mind, he perched on the very edge of the bed, so close to the edge that he had to be careful not to fall off, and he smiled.

"I'm fine," he replied. "Just thinking."

"I know the feeling," replied Nick sympathetically. "So, I was asking about your favourite colour?"

"Purple," he replied. "It's a bit vain, really, but its the colour of my scales." He shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed to be sharing that fact. "What about you?"

"Blue, but I think that much is rather obvious," said Nick, gesturing at his walls, sheets, pillows, cushions, and curtains, all of which were various shades of blue. "And, I've never seen your wings. Can I?"

"Really? You want to see them?" Morgan panicked. Even if he partially transformed, he'd have to take off his shirt unless he wanted to rip it, and then Nick would see his back, and that was something he really wanted to avoid. "I mean, they're just wings."

"Hey, I hate flying, and I showed off for you," countered Nick, raising an eyebrow. "C'mon, just a little peak?"

"It's not the same," he answered a bit too quickly for his own liking. "You just have to take off your shoes. I have to take off my shirt."

"I'll close my eyes if you're shy," said Nick, grinning at him. Then, something changed in his boyfriend's face as Morgan met his gaze. Sitting up in bed, Nick turned to face him and placed a hand on his lap. "But, if you don't want to, that's fine to."

"I'll tell you a story instead," Nick continued, his blue eyes glinting with something strange. "Promise not to laugh, though. See, I never hated flying when I was younger. When I was younger, much younger, I sometimes flew as far as Corona… but then, see, I hit puberty, or more to the point, it hit me like a sledgehammer."

Morgan groaned. He could already tell where this story was going, because he had powers as well. It was common in their world for puberty to make their abilities manifest in mysterious ways, and for some of them, it often behaved the same as it had during their early years, back before they'd learned control. When he'd hit puberty, he'd been unable to make his tail go away for nearly a month, and his fangs had misbehaved horrible, popping out whenever he felt particularly… he flushed, even at the memory, and he shook his head. That was a story he wouldn't be sharing with Nick tonight, or ever, because the last thing he wanted his boyfriend to know was that when he'd been fourteen and gotten a little turned on, his fangs and tail would pop out.

"So, my powers were acting a bit fritzy, and I ended up floating off whenever I took off my shoes. I had to sleep in my boots for four months, and I had to tie my ankles to the tub when I bathed. I sort of hated flying ever since."

Morgan chuckled at the mental image of his boyfriend floating about the castle in his pyjamas, before his chuckles turned to laughter and he had thrown back his head in mirth. Then, he froze, thinking about the second part of Nick's story, about the bathing, and had to quickly begin thinking of something else as he felt his canines begin to elongate into fangs.

"Right, so new topic," he said hurriedly, keeping a hand over his mouth as he spoke.

"Fine, what kind of trouble did you get up to as a kid?" asked Nick with a smirk. "Did you burn down a lot of villages and eat a lot of elephants?"

"I didn't grow up in a castle with guards and high walls to keep me safe," said Morgan, looking away. "I had a mother who loved me very much, and she kept the worst away, but there were a few incidents that left their mark."

"If you're comfortable sharing, I'm here to listen," replied Nick, and there was a seriousness in his voice that hadn't been there a few moments ago. Looking at him, Morgan frowned, wondering if he was really ready to share these things… Nick had shared a lot of things with him that weren't really happy memories over the brief course of their relationship, but it was rather different to the horror stories he had up his sleeve.

Then, he looked into Nick's concerned eyes and he knew that he could share. This was Nick, the same boy who'd rescued him from the guards on his first day in Arendelle despite not knowing him at all, and this was Nick, the first person to ever offer him the genuine hand of friendship. If he couldn't be honest with him, then who could he be honest with, Morgan asked himself. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.

"Well, when I was five years old, I accidently left the perimeter of the protective barrier my mother kept around our cottage," he said, wincing slightly at the memory. "It's a small place, right on the Somnian border, and there's a lot of woodland in the area. I got lost, and a band of knights found me a few hours later, crying and alone in the woods. Back then, I couldn't control my transformation that well, so my eyes had changed, and my wings were out."

He paused, swallowing, wanting nothing more than to stop the story. But, he'd began, and Nick hadn't said a word, but there was a worried look on his boyfriend's face, and that gave him the twinge of courage he needed to carry on.

"So, they realized who I was. There's quite a large bounty on my mother's head in Somnia, and there's one on mine as well, even if I've never done anything to warrant that. Guilty by association, I think… that's the reasoning King Philip gives on all the wanted posters. Anyway, they hauled me back to their fort, and they stuck me in a cage. They prodded me with iron... which burns me really badly, and they laughed and threw things. They'd captured the dragon whelp, you see. They were to be heroes… rich heroes. My mother came for me that night. She rescued me and tore the entire base to pieces… and she killed each and every one of the knights there."

"Morgan, that's horrible," said Nick, pulling him into a hug. "I'm so sorry."

Morgan leaned into the hug, dimly aware that his eyes were wet. Blinking, he took a deep breath. The story was not over, and he'd certainly have shed more than a few tears by the end of it. Not that he ever spoke about these things… Nick was the first. He couldn't help the light chuckle that escaped his lips. Nick seemed to be making it a habit of being a great many of his firsts, not that he minded all that much.

"We moved afterwards, to a small house near the mountains. Then, I was seven, and I'd just had a fight with my mother. It was something stupid, really, and I can't even remember what I was angry about. I just remember us arguing. So, that night, I did something really stupid, and I ran away. I was a kid, and I thought I was tough enough to look after myself."

"It was two days later and I was starving. I hadn't eaten since the dried meat I'd filched from Mum's kitchen before leaving, and I wandered into the nearest village. I tried to steal an apple, and the merchant caught me. The punishment for stealing in Somnia is thirty lashes across your bare skin. They decided to give me fifteen since I was just a kid. But, the whip was tinged with iron, and once I began to howl in pain, my wings popped out and smoke started coming out of my mouth, and they realized, once again, that I was Maleficent's son. So, fifteen lashes became a hundred… and even after Mother rescued me, I couldn't sleep on my back or even wear a shirt for months. Her magic can do a lot, but that much damage took time to heal."

"Is that why you don't want to take off your shirt?" asked Nick, and Morgan flinched at the sheer horror in his boyfriend's voice. "Because of the scars?"

"Yes," he whimpered, hating himself for breaking down. The memories were old, but they still stung at him like razors, and he didn't want to relive them. But, he didn't think he'd ever be able to start talking about this again, not even with Nick… and so he might as well at least finish the story.

Pulling himself away from his boyfriend, he reached down to begin unbuttoning his shirt, only for cool fingers to stop him. He looked up, meeting Nick's eyes, ready to see the pity. There was none. In place of it was compassion and warmth, and Morgan had to bite down on the urge to start crying.

"Don't, not until you're ready for me to see," said Nick, leaning in so that their foreheads touched. "I would love to see your wings, I would, but I want to see you smile when you show them to me, not cry." He ran a hand across Morgan's cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb.

Morgan nodded, and continued in a hollow voice. "There were other things that happened over the years, but nothing as bad as that… at least until I was fourteen. My mother was friendly with Regina, The Evil Queen, back in those days, and sometimes, I'd play with her sons. They were bullies, I'll be the first to admit, but I was lonely, and I liked the company. One day, they convinced me that it would be okay for the three of us to go into the woods. There were three of us, and we'd be able to look out for each other. Bounty hunters got a hold of us not even an hour into our little adventure."

"They shoved us into these tiny cages that had obviously been made for animals and hauled us back to their camp. I tried transforming, but the bars were iron, and I couldn't do anything. I was powerless. Then, when we got to their camp, the one in charge said that the bounty was on our heads, and we didn't need to be alive… so I watched as the two kids who were the closest things I had to friends were beheaded…" Morgan shuddered, and Nick's embrace tightened. "Mother and Regina arrived just a few moments before I… I was on my knees, my head forced over this bloody stump, and the bounty hunter was just about to swing the axe. I couldn't even move my head. The only thing I could see as I waited to die were Henry's head and Harry's body, because his head had rolled off next to one of the tents."

For the longest time, he sat there in Nick's arms, trembling and sobbing into his boyfriend's shoulder. The last memory was always the hardest to relive, but he was also glad that it was out, and that he had somebody other than his mother who knew. Swallowing, clutching onto Nick as though his life depended on it, he inhaled the scent of his boyfriend's cologne as he took a series of deep breaths to steady himself.

Pulling away, if only a little, he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and bit his lip.

"Nick, if you don't mind, I'm kind of worn out after that story, so you mind if I call it an early night tonight?" Without waiting for a response, he made to climb off the bed, only for Nick to pull him back down by the sleeve.

"Hey, you can sleep here tonight," said Nick, running a hand through his hair. "You take my bed, and I'll be fine on the windowseat, okay?"

Morgan shook his head, still trembling. Despite himself, he knew that what Nick had just said wasn't what he wanted right now. Just being in Nick's arms had been comforting, more comforting that it would be to be alone with his thoughts tonight. He hadn't meant to spill everything, but once the first story had left his lips, the rest had followed. Now, though… he just needed Nick.

"Stay with me," he whispered, hating how vulnerable he sounded. "It hurts less when you hold me."

And, that was how Morgan, for the first time since arriving in Arendelle, was able to sleep through the night, fully clothed with his head buried in a tearstained pillow, curled up with his back to Nick's chest, wrapped tightly in his boyfriend's arms.


	13. Through the Looking Glass

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

 **Through the Looking Glass**

* * *

Morgan was uncomfortable.

Sitting in the smaller dining hall—he still hadn't figured out why Nick's home had four of them, to be honest, not counting the three banquet halls—he nibbled at his breakfast, not quite sure what to do with the emotional young woman sitting across from him. It did not help that they were the only two people in the room given that Princess Anna and Prince Kristoff had decided to take their breakfast in their private dining chamber with their daughter, Bryn, who had arrived at the castle late the previous night. And, Nick hadn't even bothered coming down at all, opting to eat in his study whilst going over some paperwork or the other.

Really, considering all that had happened to Lady Yuë in the past few weeks, he didn't blame her for being such an emotional wreck. Still, he couldn't deny that he'd rather spend the morning having his nerves wrecked by Olaf than having to endure one more sob.

"My father is dead," said Yuë in a morose voice. Her plate was still filled with scrambled eggs and two sausages, and she shifted the breakfast around the plate with her fork, not quite looking up. Her eyes were red and bruised, as though she'd been frantically rubbing at them since her arrival in Arendelle, which she probably had.

Morgan shifted, unsure of how to respond. He was not good at comforting strangers, and he would definitely be getting even with Nick for abandoning him that morning. He sighed. Not that he would… running a kingdom was difficult, and even with Princess Anna and Prince Kristoff assisting his boyfriend, Morgan couldn't deny how exhausted Nick looked these days.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I wish mine was as well," said Morgan. Almost as soon as the words left his lips, he felt the urge to slap himself. That was definitely right the same thing to say. Reaching across the table, he patted her on the shoulder as she stared at him in what Morgan hoped was just disdain. "There there," he added.

"There there?" she asked, slamming a hand onto the table. "My father is dead. My brothers are dead. My mother is probably dead as well. My homeland is in ruins, and my only friend is a dragon who left almost as soon as he dropped me off here, and now, the only person I have to talk too about my problems is you!" She stabbed at a sausage with her fork, and with a loud crack, the plate cracked. Clenching her fists, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and seemed to crumple in upon herself.

Morgan frowned, unsure of how to handle the situation now that the _there there_ had failed. This girl was a stranger, and unlike Cornelius, Alyssa, and Nick, she was also in a state of deep depression, which made it incredibly difficult for him to win her over with his usual good humour. In fact, all things considered, he hadn't even mentioned who his mother was yet, given that the girl had a pair of dangerous looking sai, and he was not yet certain as to whether they were made of iron or steel.

"Who are you, anyway?" she continued, pursing her lips. "I've known most of the royals all my life, and I've never met you? Are you one of Prince Nicholas' retainers?"

"You could say that," said Morgan. Forcing a smile to his face, he raised his hands in surrender at the hostility in her voice. "I am sorry, you know. I'm just not very good at showing it."

"Then maybe you could be quiet," she retorted.

"I would, but you kept whining until I said something," he said, clenching his fist under the table. "Granted, what I said lacked a lot of tact, and I get why you got angry, but if you're going to be living in Arendelle for a while, then I do think we should be cordial, at the very least." There, he thought to himself. That had been polite and lacking in anything that could be construed as offensive. If only his mother could see him now. She probably wouldn't recognize him, considering how accustomed she was to his usual acerbic wit.

"Whining?" asked Yuë, getting to her feet. A vein throbbed in her temple, and Morgan hastily leaned as far back in his seat as he could without tipping over. "Bite me, Morgan."

With that, she stormed out of the room, leaving him alone with his food. _Well, that went well_ , he thought, wondering if he should pat himself on the back for getting rid of her or kick himself in the shin for pissing of a woman who had just lost her entire family. Whilst he leaned towards the latter, he also knew that he tended to bruise easily, so he'd have to pass.

"Wow, you really suck," said an unfamiliar voice from the doorway.

Turning his head, Morgan raised an eyebrow at the young teenager walking into the room. Nick had often described his cousin as being more rock troll than royalty, and he could see why. Princess Brynhildr had a distinctly wild air about her, from her braided brown hair and scarred face, to the mud she was trekking along to floor, as well as the thick leathers and furs she wore in lieu of proper attire. The only thing royal about her, as far as he could tell, was her eyes. They were her mother's, and Morgan knew enough about Princess Anna to know that whilst the woman was not the most orthodox of royals, she was also quite respected in her corner of the world.

"That's a bit harsh," he replied. "I was under the impression you were having breakfast with your parents."

"Yes, but that was an hour ago," she said, looking at him as if he was stupid. "So, you're the guy who's been screwing my frigid cousin. Eh, can't say I see what all the fuss is about."

Morgan blinked, not quite sure if he should be feeling offended or amused. The girl could not have been older than eleven, all gangly limbs and scraped knuckles, but she definitely had a mouth on her. They would get along famously, he decided, leaning back in his chair.

"Technically, we aren't screwing," he said. "Aren't you a little young to know what that is, by the way?

"Eh, maybe I should use a euphemism so I don't sound so crude," she said, scratching her head. Coming to sit at the seat Yuë had just abandoned, she looked at the cracked glass plate before reaching for the serving platter, still laden with sausages and fish cakes, and placed it in front of her. Not bothering with cutlery, she began to eat. "So, how does it work? You thaw his popsicle and he polishes your scales?"

Morgan spluttered, grateful that he'd already swallowed a mouthful of orange juice before she'd started speaking, or he was certain he'd have sprayed it over her face. Recovering, he raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Bryn, may I call you Bryn?" he asked. Not waiting for her to reply, he continued, "I think we're going to have to set some ground rules. For one, I will not be discussing my relationship with your cousin with you. Secondly, there will be no innuendos while either of us is eating. Finally, please don't forget that you are a young child and that I am a dragon with a constant craving for fresh meat."

Leaning across the table, he let his eyes assume their true form. His irises gleamed bright green as his pupils narrowed to reptilian slits, and he winced as the partial transformation overtook his face. The barest hint of scales covered his skin as his jaw elongated, and he stuck out his forked tongue between his fangs. With a wink, he blew out a small puff of flame, which dissipated like mist after travelling just a few inches through the air.

Almost as quickly as the transformation had taken him, he let it fade away. Resuming his human form, he frowned at Bryn, who for some reason looked positively ecstatic rather than scared.

"I'm starting to see why he likes you," she said, an eager glint in her eye. "You're cool. So, can you transform and give me a ride on your back? Please?"

"Goodbye, Bryn," he said, getting to his feet and hastily making for the door. Morgan rolled his eyes as he went. Most children he'd come across had typically ran away screaming at just the sight of his transformation, and those that remained had wet themselves at the sight of his flames. It was clear that Princess Brynhildr was made of sterner stuff, but it did make him yearn for the clueless kids who'd thrown stones at him that one time, and the looks of terror on their faces once he'd transformed and let out a few roars.

Lost in thoughts, he wandered the castle halls, trying to figure out what to do to pass the time. There was a novel in his room that he'd just started the previous night, but he wasn't quite in the mood to read. Perhaps, he could try getting in some ice-skating practice… Nick had mentioned wanting to go with him soon, and as Morgan had lived in Somnia all his life, it wouldn't hurt for him to at least try wearing a pair of skates first so he knew how not to fall on his ass on their first actual date. Or, maybe he could try and get in some practice in the training room. It had been a while since he'd last practised, and the last thing he needed now was to let his swordsmanship go to rust.

He was roused from his thoughts by a snowball hitting him in the back of the head. Already knowing who had thrown it, he turned around, a smile curling across his lips as he saw Nick at the top of the stairs, watching him with a raised eyebrow and a second snowball in his hand.

"Morgan," Nick called, making his way down the stairs. "I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes. Duke Weselton has just arrived to argue with my mother about trade tariffs, and given that isn't here, Aunt Anna and I have placate him instead."

"And you were looking for me in the hopes I would eat him?" asked Morgan, raising an amused eyebrow.

"What? No." Nick snorted, rolling his eyes. "Though, come to think of it, that would be nice. The man is pushing a hundred and will see us all in the ground, and he'll still be kicking up a fuss about how we run things." Nick leaned against the wall and stifled a yawn. "I actually have about twenty minutes to spare, and I was hoping to spend them with you before having to deal with the old goat for the rest of the day."

"I'm actually just coming from meeting your cousin," said Morgan, smirking as Nick sighed. "She's a firecracker."

"What did she do now?" he asked, sounding quite put upon.

"Actually, I quite liked her," said Morgan with a grin. "Lady Yuë, on the other hand, may currently want to have me whipped."

Just like that, Nick's expression fell, and he reached out to grasp Morgan's hands. Confused, Morgan cocked his head to the side, not sure what had come over his boyfriend, but his confusion almost immediately gave way for weariness at the next words that escaped Nick's lips.

"Don't joke about that," said Nick, his eyes flickering to Morgan's back. "It isn't funny."

"Nick," said Morgan, his voice firm and his heart melting at the very same time. Pulling his boyfriend into a tight hug, he patted him on the back. "Making those jokes is what helped me cope all those years, and I'm fine, really, I am. Life isn't perfect, it never has been, but that doesn't mean your sense of humour can't be."

"I'm allowed to care about what happened to you," Nick replied in a soft voice. "It really was barbaric and nobody… nobody should have had to deal with something like that."

"You are and it was," said Morgan, forcing a smile to his lips as he withdrew from the hug. Cupping Nick's cheek, he leaned in so that their foreheads touched and their noses bumped against each other. "But, I don't want you feeling sorry for me, and I don't want you pitying me. I want you to accept what happened to me, because it did happen, but to understand that it was a long time ago. They're nothing but awful memories now."

"Then, at least let me do this," said Nick, his hands falling to rest on Morgan's hips.

"Do what?"

"Give you a few good memories to replace the bad," said Nick, and pressed his lips to his.

Unlike their first kiss and the many that had come after, this kiss lit a fire in Morgan's chest and stole his breath. There wasn't any awkward fumbling… instead, there was an intensity that he didn't know existed between the two of them, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he completely expected to have steam coming out of his mouth when this was done. Then, Nick's tongue slipped between his lips for the first time, and something in his brain seemed to malfunction at the sensation. Grasping Nick's back, he pushed his boyfriend against the nearest wall. Nick gasped, their tongues battling for dominance until Morgan won, and his heart skipped a beat as he felt his frozen prince melt in his arms.

Pulling away, he grinned, trying to catch his breath. Meeting Nick's eye and catching sight of his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, he reached out to give his boyfriend a playful poke in the ribs.

"Feeling awfully confident about your skills, are you, Frosty?" he asked.

"Duke Weselton can wait," Nick murmured. "Just shut up and kiss me again."

* * *

Princess Margaret Charming considered herself to be a very intelligent young woman, one whose wisdom was only eclipsed by her beauty. She was a fabulous dancer, had the voice of an angel, and she considered herself to be quite the artist. Considering the immense amount of effort and raw talent it took to make her best friend, Aurelia Rêvere, look as good as her, there was nobody who could question her devotion to the arts. In fact, she had recently begun to write her memoirs, and she expected every young girl in her kingdom to be smitten with the tragic story of her life.

She had money… more than God, as her mother liked to remind her, but what good was a purse that never seemed to empty when you already owned everything that was worth owning. It would not be long until her betrothal to Prince Nicholas was finalized, so all was set in the romance department, and she was certain that the court of Arendelle would be utterly devoted to her warm nature and good humor. However, as much as she was attracted to Prince Nicholas, she could not deny that it was awfully cold in Arendelle, and moving there would be quite the imposition.

There were a great many other problems in her life, but as a princess of Renvale, that was simply her cross to bear.

Right now, she was looking for her brother. He was rather odd, if she was being honest with herself, and she was fairly certain her mother must have dropped him on his head a few times as a child for him to turn out the way he had. Still, she did love him after a fashion. It was her duty to look out for him, dull as he was, and he did make her laugh.

Knocking on his bedroom door, she frowned as it swung open. That was strange. Christopher never left the door ajar for fear of that baby kangaroo—what was its name? Roo?—of his getting loose and starting some sort of mischief or the other. The second sign that something was wrong was the room itself. The bed looked as though it hadn't been slept in for days, and most of the furniture had been covered with white sheets. Biting on her lip, she glanced around in search of one of her brother's many plush toys.

"Rabbit?" she called. "Tigger?"

There was no response. Now, warning bells were sounding in her head. Rabbit had never been warm to her, but Tigger would have come bounding out if Regina herself had swanned in through the door and declared herself the new empress of the earth.

"Piglet?" she called, tugging on her twin-tails. Quickly, she reminded herself that this was not proper behavior for a lady, and placed her hands at her sides instead. A deep frown on her face, she left the room in search of her father. He would tell her what was going on.

As she walked through the corridors, her unease grew. The guards were at their posts, but there was something off about their posture. They were hunched over, leaning on their halberds, and not a single one of them offered her a word of greeting as she passed them by. The servants were acting oddly as well, now that she thought about it, and she'd seen no sign of the dwarves since returning.

As she passed by one of the corner rooms, she paused, hearing a light scratching against the door. Upon hearing familiar voices, she immediately swung it open, letting it slam shut behind her as she took in the sight of her brother's plush toys, all huddled together on the floor. At the sight of her, they looked ready to bolt, from wise old Owl to matronly Kanga.

"Princess Margaret," said Rabbit, his voice stern yet weary. Pushing himself to the front of the small crowd, he pursed his lips at her. "If a single hair has been harmed on that boy's head, there will be hell to pay."

"What hair?" she asked. "Which boy?" None of this made sense. Quickly making sure that the door was closed behind her, she knelt down beside the toys. "What in the world is going on?"

They were silent, exchanging furtive looks. Then Owl, bless his soul, came forward and began to speak. As he did, Margaret felt a distinct sense of horror begin to well up in her stomach; the tale simply could not be true, and she'd have called him a liar had so many things not been so odd since her return. But… for her brother to have been carted off in such a manner, for the dwarves to have been sent away, for the toys to have been consigned to this room to await an inevitable end in one of the castle's fireplaces, all on her mother's orders… No, it couldn't be.

"How do you expect me to believe any of that?" she asked, when he was finally done.

"You're a vain girl, Margaret, but not a stupid one, and I do believe you love your brother," said Rabbit. "Look around and tell us that we're lying."

She took a deep breath. If what they said was true, then something definitely had gone wrong during the visit to Arendelle, and she would get to the bottom of it. Her father would never lie to her, even if he'd been acting more aloof than usual in the past few weeks, and she would have to see him immediately.

Glancing about the room, her eyes settled on a large handbag in the corner. The leather was dusty, and the style was very old, but it would do. Grasping it, she looked at the toys.

"Can you fit in here?" she asked. "Until I find out what's going on, it would be best for you lot to not be in the castle." Margaret left the rest unsaid, though they got the message clearly enough, judging by how fast they scrambled into the bag. She was not doing this for her… but if her mother truly did intend to destroy the toys, as Queen Snow had often threatened to but been held in check by King Charming… Christopher would be beside himself.

Once the lot of them were in the bag, she zipped it shut and dusted it off as best she could. Hoping not to arise too much suspicion, she quickly left the room and, holding her head up high, began heading for the front door. The castle was silent, and the guards' eyes followed her as she walked, sending a chill down her spine. This was not the Renvale she remembered… something was very, very wrong.

Upon reaching the gardens, she headed for the stables. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she caught sight of Dreamer, nibbling at hay in his stall. Her brother's white stallion was an intelligent animal, and she trusted that he knew the way well enough. Not that she could go with them. She never rode for leisure and save for the brief moments she accompanied her family on rides through the country, during which she rode side-saddle as befit a noblewoman of her rank and stature, she did not ride at all.

"Let's go, boy," she said, slipping the handbag over his head as she led him out of the stables. Quickly looking around to make sure the gardens were still empty, she headed for the postern gate, keeping a wary eye on her surroundings. Finally, after what felt like hours, she reached the gate. It was unguarded, to her surprise, and it slid open at a touch.

Unzipping the bag, she reached in to help Owl out. He was the most intelligent, and she trusted that he'd be able to handle things from here.

"Dreamer knows the way," she said, gesturing to the woods. "The beekeeper's daughter, the one that Christopher likes."

As she said it, she saw movement in the corner of her eyes. Whirling around, Margaret felt her heart sink at the sight of her mother striding across the grounds with a string of guards behind her. Their halberds gleamed in the morning sun, but their eyes were glazed over, their expressions blank. She knew a great many of them in passing… something was wrong.

Quickly, she slipped off her rings and bracelets, stuffing them into the bag. For a moment, she considered shoving in her necklace as well, but the clasp was intricate, and it would take too long to undo. Instead, biting her lip, she reached for her tiara and gave that up instead.

"Owl, tell the girl that you all need to leave. Those jewels should be enough to buy passage from Renvale, but make haste."

"Princess Margaret, come with us."

"Go," she said, slapping Dreamer's flank as hard as she could. The horse whinnied and bolted out the gate, disappearing into the woods, and Margaret breathed a sigh of relief before turning to confront her mother. Just as she opened her mouth to do so, she felt her words die in her throat.

Her mother was rippling, though it appeared that Margaret was the only one who noticed. She took a step back as her mother's skin grew a few shades darker and her hair twisted into curls. Her eyes changed from blue to brown, and her features morphed, becoming distinctly unfamiliar. Then, a staff appeared in the woman-who-had-been-her-mother's hand, and understanding dawned. Bile rose in Margaret's throat; she knew who this was, though they had never met.

"Regina," she snarled, and for the first time in her life, she felt herself grow envious of the likes of Alyssa and Aquaria, princesses who had been raised to defend themselves with sword and spear. All her parents had given her was her beauty and charm, and that would not help her in the slightest against the most wanted witch in all of Renvale. "What have you done to my mother?"

"Regina?" replied The Evil Queen, still speaking in Snow White's voice. "My dear, I understand that the news of your father's passing must weigh on you, but I fear you must be quite confused. It's me, Margaret. Your mother."

"You are not my mother," she said, backing away until she felt the stone walls of the castle against her back. Taking a deep breath, she looked around her for something, anything she could use to defend herself. Her eyes settling on a nearby rake, she quickly brandished it in front of her.

Looking at the guards, she raised her voice. "Have you all gone blind? Arrest her immediately." Only then did the other half of Regina's statement dawn on her, and she felt a sickening sensation wash over her. Her skin crawled, and her eyes stung. "My father is not dead," she shrieked.

"Of course he is," said Regina, smirking. "I found him dead in our bed this morning, poisoned… can you believe it? And, can you imagine my heartbreak when I went to inform my only daughter and found her trying to flee the castle like a thief… and, an empty poison bottle amongst your perfumes. Oh, Margaret, why?" Regina wailed, clutching at her cheeks, though her eyes glinted with amusement.

"You vile bitch." Margaret screamed, lunging at the witch with her rake. She missed her strike as the guards grabbed her, their gauntlets biting into her wrists as she screamed again, her throat growing hoarse as they forced her to her knees in front of Regina.

"There is only one punishment for such a crime," said Regina, reaching into her pocket and drawing out a hand mirror. Holding it up, she held it in front of Margaret, and she stroked her daughter's hair. "Exile."

The mirror glowed and Margaret felt herself being sucked in. She screamed and twisted in the guards grasp to no avail, shrieking and kicking. Spittle ran down her chin as her twin-tails escaped their ribbons, and her knees grew scuffed from scraping along the paving stones. Then, the world was white and empty. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing around her, and when she turned back, there was a single window, floating in mid-air.

Through it, she could see Regina smiling at her. Then, there was a sharp motion and the window shattered. Margaret shrieked, slamming her fists against the broken glass that had been the only exit from the mirror world, not caring as the shards bit into her skin…

* * *

"Dear, how do you feel about Aurelia Rêvere?" asked his mother, looking up from her dinner with a teasing smile.

"She's a narcissistic brat who'd burst into flames the minute she walked into a chapel," replied his father, an amused glint in his eye.

"Yes, thank you, Eugene, but I was talking to Cornelius."

Cornelius chuckled as he set down his fork, glancing at his parents. If Alyssa and he were even half as happy with each other after twenty-five years of marriage as his parents were, then he would consider himself to be a very lucky man. Reaching out for another garlic roll, his wedding ring glinted in the evening sunlight streaming through the large bay windows. It was the first time he'd worn it since Alyssa had slipped it onto his finger, and his parents hadn't yet noticed.

He should tell them… really, he should, but he just wasn't sure how to bring it up. Hopefully, one of them would inquire about the ring sooner or later, as he felt that would be a suitable introduction to the topic.

"I agree wholeheartedly with Dad," he said, smirking at his mother. "Aurelia is dreadful."

"I'm glad you think that," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "Queen Aurora brought up the notion of a marriage between the two of you whilst we were in Arendelle, and I have just received a formal request this morning. Needless to say, I tore it up at once and tossed it into the fireplace, but I'm glad you approve."

Ah, they'd brought up marriage, he thought, perking up. Finally, a good lead-in for him to use as a springboard.

"It would be difficult for a married man to get engaged to someone," he said, reaching for his juice. Once again, his ring glinted, and this time, his mother caught sight of it.

Queen Rapunzel choked, her eyes going wide. At the same time, lager sprayed out of King Eugene's mouth, and he immediately reached across the table to thump his wife on the back. With a sharp cough, a wedge of bread and chicken came flying out of her mouth and knocked over a candlestick. Cornelius glanced around the room. The new butler seemed to be having a small fit, whilst Cassandra, his mother's lady-in-waiting, had grasped a column for support. The guards beside the door were eyeing each other warily, and the kitchen maid, who had been waiting patiently in the corner in case they needed anything else, hastily grasped the skillet of chicken off the table and hurried out the door.

"Married?" his mother asked, still looking rather winded from her choking fit. "You got married? When? How? To whom?"

His father cleared his throat, eyeing him with a knowing look. "If we may have the room," said King Eugene, nodding in approval at the maid who'd removed the skillet.

As the staff filed out, Cornelius beamed. Things seemed to be going well. His parents were surprised, no doubt, but they'd come around as they always did, and his mother had not yelled at him, meaning that she wasn't angry. Or… he suddenly realized, the smile slipping off his face as he caught sight of the vein throbbing in her temple, it was simply taking her a bit of time to process what he'd just said.

Suddenly, he too was grateful that the maid had the foresight to remove the skillet. He couldn't remember her name, but she definitely deserved a raise.

"It was Dad's idea," said Cornelius hurriedly, trying to shift what portion of the blame he could. "He told me to do what makes me happy."

"Cornelius, that isn't what I meant and you know it," said his father, resting a placating hand on Rapunzel's shoulder. "I said that the only person standing in the way of your happiness was yourself, not that you should go out and marry her." Suddenly, he paused, as if something had just come to his mind. Groaning, he brought a palm to his face. "I sense a lot of angry letters in the future… many, many angry letters, courtesy of King Adam."

Cornelius opened his mouth to reply, but his mother silenced him with a look.

Her eyes narrowed, she said, "You have five minutes to explain before I come over there and whack you upside the head."

"Right…" He gulped, running a hand through his hair. "So, here's the deal. Alyssa and I have been friends for years, and then we kind-of, sort-of fell in love." He flushed, knowing how cheesy it sounded, but needing to get them on his side and convince them that he'd just done what he'd needed to do. "And yes, I love her. I smile whenever I see her, and I get this odd feeling in my stomach, and my heart skips a beat whenever we kiss. And I get bored listening to most people talk, but she could keep my attention for an hour just talking about the weather. And, she's tough as nails and doesn't take my nonsense, and I think she can probably kick my ass in a swordfight, which shouldn't come as a surprise to you, Mum, seeing as you're a better fighter than Dad, but I'm getting off topic."

Drumming his fingers along the table, he frowned. "Look, it's not ideal, but in Arendelle, we found out that King Adam was going to force a betrothal contract between Alyssa and Christopher Charming. She didn't want that. I didn't want that. Hell, I don't think Christopher even knew about it, and he probably didn't want that either. So, we decided to get married so that we wouldn't be forced to seperate. And, we magically bound our wedding license so that it couldn't be annulled by a king's verdict… and we sort of…" He flushed, hoping they got the picture.

"Consummated the marriage?" said King Eugene, raising an eyebrow. "Cornelius, I don't know whether to be proud of your ballsiness or utterly furious that you probably just caused a diplomatic firestorm for your mother."

"Proud of my ballsiness," he replied quickly, nodding in his parents' direction. "Please let it be the former."

"So, let me see if I have this all correct," said his mother, and the disappointed look in her eyes was worse than if she'd been angry. "You were in a relationship with a foreign princess, which your father and I approved off, as I'm sure you know, and upon hearing a rumour regarding a potential betrothal contract which would make it so you couldn't be together, you decided that the appropriate course of action was to get married? Which you then did, and I can only imagine you dragged your cousin into this since nobody else in Arendelle would be daft enough to officiate such a ceremony without first telling the parents of the bride and groom, and then you found a magic user to bind the marriage so that no matter what anyone else says, you and Alyssa will remain husband and wife?"

"Well—" Cornelius began, only to be cut off.

"And, not once through all of this did it occur to you to come to your father and I for assistance in the matter?"

"Mum." Cornelius sighed, looking down at his shoes. "What could you have done? Honestly, King Adam hates me, and he loathes Dad. In fact, the only reason he tolerates you is because you' re of the same rank. Queen Belle may have been willing to help, but she has no say in how Amoré runs… the same as Dad can't really rule Corona and can simply assist you in your rule. So, put yourself in my shoes… would you have done it for Dad?"

He looked up, hopeful that he'd made his point, and his mother sighed. Rubbing at her temple, she poured herself a glass of wine and gulped it down in one.

"You know me too well," she said, closing her eyes. "I probably would have done the same to be with Eugene."

"Oh, that just warms my heart," said his father. A faint smile on his face, he looked at Cornelius, and nodded. "And you, I can't say I'm a hundred percent happy with this, but I suppose congratulations are in order?"

"Thanks, Dad," he said, before turning to his mother.

She sighed. "Well, once the cow's been milked, there's no squeezing the cream back up its udders. I'm still very disappointed and more than a little cross that my only son eloped without telling me, but I suppose that can't be helped now." Leaning back in her chair, she looked at him. He could tell that her smile was forced, but considering the bomb he had just dropped on them, he would take what he could get.

"So," she added. "Would you inform your father and I as to your plans for the future, now that you are wedded?"

"And, Cornelius," said his father, smirking. "We would appreciate it when you're expecting your first child, you tell us before it's old enough to introduce itself to us."

"I guess I deserve that." He groaned before returning his mother's smile. "Actually, I'd like that," he said, referring to the plans he had for his future with Alyssa. "I'm sorry for eloping, but if I could make one request?"

"Yes?" asked his mother.

"When she married me, Alyssa did so knowing that she was burning her bridges with her father and that she was risking her crown. So please, just promise me you'll accept her. If not for her, for me. I'm as much to blame for eloping as she is."

His parents exchanged a knowing look and nodded, and Cornelius let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. Slowly, cautiously, he began to speak about how he thought the future would look after the fallout of his wedding becoming public knowledge, and how he expected to deal with it, and the plans he had for his relationship with Alyssa.

And, by midnight, when his mother finally decided that they should all go to bed and could talk more in the morning, Cornelius was delighted to see that her smile was genuine. As he walked to his bedroom, he couldn't help but feel as though the future was a little brighter now that he had his parents support. And, in a year or two, when the wars were won and the dust had settled, he'd make sure his parents could attend his wedding, even if his wife and he were already married as they repeated their vows. Only, it would be in the royal chapel, and it wouldn't be a secret… it would be the wedding Alyssa deserved.

A half hour later, as he prepared for bed, his mother walked into his room. Grateful that she hadn't walked in on him changing and that she wasn't carrying her frying pan, he offered her a tentative smile.

Softly, his mother asked, "Cornelius, does it make you happy? Do you truly think this is your happily ever after?"

Looking at her, he smiled. "I know it is, even if it isn't the perfect story."

"Good," she said, pulling him into a hug. "And, the best love stories in the world all begin with a bit of a mess, I'll have you know. Remember, the first time I met your father, I knocked him out with a frying pan and tied him to a chair with my hair."

* * *

Christopher woke up in a soft bed, dressed in comfortable clothes, and with a dull pounding in the back of his head. His stomach ached, no doubt queasy from the copious dosages of sleeping potion that had been forced down his throat for the entirety of his voyage, not to mention empty. The crew had fed him for the most part, but the meagre rations had made him wonder if they remembered he was actually their crown prince and not some random stowaway they'd found on their vessel. His mother's orders, they'd said, but even Christopher had his doubts.

Snow White had never been much of a mother to him; she was vapid, mean, and deluded into thinking her way was the only way, but she had never been cruel. Perhaps there had been times when she had toed the line a little too firmly, but she had never crossed it. Christopher sighed. Who was he kidding? His mother loathed him, and she had ever since their court had termed him the Prince of Fools.

Sitting up in bed, he clutched at his temple as he glanced around the room. It was very red, save for the walls, which had been painted a rich shade of green. From the curtains to the bedsheets, everything was redder than a rose, and even the wooden furniture seemed to have a vermillion tinge to it. The last time he'd visited Amoré, he'd been eleven, and he didn't remember them taking their national colour quite so seriously.

"Well, took you long enough to wake."

Christopher nearly fell out of bed in surprise. Glancing wildly around the room, he clutched at his temples at the sharp pain which came with movement before his eyes well on the blond man sitting beside the window. The man was shorter than he was with blue eyes, high cheekbones, a silver stud just on his left eyebrow, and he wore an apron around his waist. Instantly on alert, Christopher rubbed his fingers together beneath the sheets, trying to summon a dream to mind. His head ached as he did so, but he persevered until he felt the faintest flicker in the tips of his fingers.

It was not that he distrusted the man, stranger though he was. Simply, it was that the last week had been completely hellish, and he was more than a little jumpy.

"Chatty lad, aren't you?" added the man, quirking an eyebrow. "After I went through all the trouble of keeping the maids from throwing this little tyke out with your old clothes."

Christopher remained silent. The knowledge that the castle maids had undressed him rankled, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. It was not that he was a crown prince who deserved at least some small smidge of respect, at the very least. Simply put, he was a human being, and he would expect that these people would have had at least offered him the courtesy of allowing him to change his own clothes, or if that was too much to ask, that they'd have had the common decency to not violate him by stripping him naked whilst he'd been asleep. Well, at least they'd redressed him.

Shaking himself to clear out the nasty thoughts brewing in his head, he reminded himself that he had bigger worries.

Then, the man reached behind his chair and lifted Pooh into the air by the back of his red T-shirt, and Christopher's heart leapt into his throat in delight. He hadn't even spared a thought about his friend since waking, but just the sight of Pooh was enough to lift his spirits. To his subsequent horror, however, the man tossed the bear across the room in his direction, and Christopher nearly failed to catch him by the paw as he sailed past.

"Bastard," he muttered under his breath, quickly checking his friend over to make sure that Pooh hadn't taken any damage in their most recent… well, adventure, for want of a better word. Seeing none, he let out a sigh of relief. "Pooh, you all right?" he asked.

"Well you see, Christopher, I have had a most dreadful week. But, I have thought about it, and what I have thought is that it is much better to be here with you. Though, I must say that I am very hungry, and there is no honey to be found."

"I'm sorry, buddy," said Christopher, ruffling the bear's head. "We'll get you some as soon as we're out of this mess."

Looking up, he looked at the man again, who had been waiting in silence. Grudgingly, Christopher nodded in his direction. "Thank you," he said, gesturing at Pooh. "For not throwing out my friend."

"Well, I know how attached you are to the bear," replied the man. Tapping his chin, he frowned. "I'm surprised you don't remember me. Well, it has been nearly ten years, so that's to be expected, but considering how many times I caught you sneaking into the kitchens in search of honey for that bear's black hole of a stomach during your last visit, I'd have thought I'd have left a better impression."

Christopher frowned. It had been a long time ago, but now that the man mentioned it, he did look rather familiar. Then, as if a candle had just been lit in his head, his eyes widened as realization dawned.

"Mister Potts?" he said incredulously.

"Huh, been a long time since anyone's called me that, but you always were a polite kid. But, you're not eleven any more, and I'd like to pretend I'm still twenty, so call me Chip." Getting to his feet, Chip cricked his neck before giving him a quick once-over. "It's madness is what this is, believe me. I know it. Lumiére knows it. Cogsworth knows it. I smell your mother's hand in this. How is the old broad?"

"Well, Chip," said Christopher, "She had my guards knock me out, had a ship waiting to bring me here against my will, had a crew drug me to make sure I couldn't escape, and I can't say the welcome I'm getting in Amoré is any warmer."

"I'll have you know that we've been most welcoming," said Chip, looking visibly affronted. "The circumstances of your arrival may have been less than ideal, but I assure you that when Lumiére informed King Adam of it, he was furious."

"Chip," said Christopher, his voice cold. "This is not my bedroom. I haven't eaten a proper meal in a week. I've been dosed with so much sleeping potion that I could probably vomit out Sleeping Beauty's childhood. And, these are not the clothes I remember wearing when I _left_ Renvale."

Chip paled, no doubt understanding the insinuation in the last part of Christopher's complaints. Raising his hands in surrender, he shook his head. "Your clothes were sodden with saltwater and they stank. Marla, the head-maid of the castle, who is sixty by the way, and the royal physician changed you and cleaned you up rather than let you lie in your own filth until you woke up."

He shrugged, looking completely out of his depth. "Look, I know this sucks for you," he added. "But, what do you want me to do? I'm just the chef, and the only reason I'm even here right now is because I'm the youngest person in the castle that Lumiére trusts, and he thought you'd be more comfortable around someone closer to your age. And, as for not eating, just tell me what you'd like and I'll whip it up in no time. I'm on your side here, mate, believe me."

"My side?" Christopher snorted. "Whether my mother arranged this or not, your King is just as responsible as she is. It takes two monarchs to arrange a betrothal, and if he had just not gotten me involved with whatever schemes he has, I would still be in the comfort of my own home, mocked by my court, but able to visit Priscilla whenever I wanted." His eyes widened at the last bit, and he bit his lip. He had not meant to say that, not in the slightest. He needed to get eat something, he knew, and take a hot bath before getting some proper sleep.

"Believe it or not, I am," said Chip with a shrug. "You're a good kid who doesn't deserve this, but if I'm being honest, I'm not on your side because of that. You mentioned having a girl back home. What makes you think Princess Alyssa is any keener on marrying you than you are her? She's got a beau as well, and call me sentimental, but I've had the pleasure of knowing her since she was in diapers, and I would like to see her happy."

"King Adam and Queen Belle should be home within the week. If you want to stand any chance of stopping this, I advise you to speak to Queen Belle. Her support means more in this than does her husband's." Making for the door, Chip paused. "So, what do you want for dinner, Christopher?"

Christopher hesitated. In his arms, Pooh squirmed, rubbing at his stomach, and at the same time, Christopher's own belly gave a loud rumble. "Anything is good, but you should know that I'm a vegetarian and I can't eat anything that has nuts in it. And, if you could, a pot of honey for Pooh, please." He forced a smile to his face. If he wanted to get out of this mess, he needed friends in Amoré to help him, and at the moment, Chip was the closest thing he had to an ally.

"No worries. Bathroom is through that door. Closet's been stocked with a few changes of clothes. I'll be telling Lumiére you're awake, so hold off on showering and what not until he gets to see you, because if the old fart wants to tell you something, he'll come right in and say it, whether you're on the can or taking a wank. No sense of shame, that bloody candlestick." Rolling his eyes, Chip smiled. "You need anything, just ask. Welcome to the Court of Roses. I trust you don't mind the thorns too much."


	14. Love Me In The Dark

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 **Love Me In The Dark**

* * *

Swallowing, Alyssa knocked on the door, ready to meet the man her father wanted her to marry… which, thankfully, would never happen, considering that she was already wedded and bedded. Still, a part of her felt guilty for letting Christopher Charming make the long journey from Renvale to Amoré for nothing, but in her defence, she hadn't known he'd be here when she arrived. Clearly, she thought, her father had intended to surprise her. The thought made her angry, and she forced it down.

As Nick and Cor had reminded her in Arendelle, Christopher was not as bad as his parents. A little odd, sure, but when last they'd met, he'd been quite sweet to her, even though she'd still been twelve and awkward, whilst he'd been sixteen and dashing in that dreamy way of his. She was not angry at him… unless, of course, he approved of their parents trying to have them dragged down the aisle, in which case she'd be giving him a piece of her mind. But, if he was an innocent to their parents' machinations as she was, then she owed it to him to at least be polite.

"Come in," said a sleepy voice, and she rolled her eyes before opening the door. As soon as she entered the room, however, she paused.

Christopher Charming was not what she had expected, not in the slightest. Sitting up in bed and dressed in pyjamas, his hair was tousled as though he'd just woken, and his eyes were bleary. There was a guarded expression on his face which boded well for her, and that cute teddy of his was sitting at his side, looking at her with what she hoped was curiosity.

"Princess Alyssa," he said, climbing out of bed in a hurry. Stiffly, he inclined his head in her direction, and she fought back the urge to snort. Formality did not become him in the slightest, but who was she to talk?

"Forgive my appearance," he added. "I was not expecting you."

"My ship made port this morning," she replied. "And, I don't care for appearances and formality. The Godmother knows I've seen enough of Cornelius and Nicholas wandering around in their shorts at night, so your pyjamas do not scare me. At least they hide your legs."

He looked startled for a moment before awkwardly running a hand through his hair. Gesturing for her to sit down, he perched on the end of his bed, staring at her in a curious manner. She rolled her eyes. His reaction to her was no different than what she was used to. Most princesses were sugar and cream, but she was salt and spice, and if that made her unusual, then she didn't care to fit the norm.

"That's interesting," he said. Reaching behind him, he lifted up his teddy and set him down on his lap. "This is Pooh, by the way. Pooh, you remember Alyssa?"

"Hello, Alyssa," said Pooh, waving at her. Looking up at Christopher, the bear asked. "Christopher, I have been having a think, and what I have thought it that, upon a—"

"Thank you, Pooh," he said, patting his teddy on the back.

"Yes, it's nice to meet you, Pooh," said Alyssa, hoping her expression did not betray her surprise. She had heard tell of the fabled toys of Prince Christopher, but she had not been prepared to engage one in conversation. From all she had heard, she had expected them to be, well, normal toys, and that Christopher himself was just a bit on the loopy side. Glancing at him, she saw that his eyes were downcast, which surprised her a bit more.

"Well, what have you got to say?" he asked, not meeting her gaze. "Whatever it is, you can say it. I've heard them all before."

"As unusual as your teddy bear is, please remember that I have a tendency to sprout fur and claws when I'm upset," she said, understanding beginning to dawn over her. "So, what do you have to say? I guarantee I've heard them all before. A particularly good memory is when your bitch of a sister called me Furface and asked me if I pee on rose bushes to mark my territory."

He giggled, his guarded expression slipping for a moment before he caught himself. There, thought Alyssa, that seemed to have done the trick. Crossing one leg over the other, she offered him a faint smile.

"Now, be honest," she said. "Do you really want to marry me?"

"Truthfully?" He looked at her, as if thinking things over. Then, he sighed, and when he spoke, his voice was listless and withdrawn. "The only reason I'm here is because my mother had her people knock me out, drag me onto a ship and keep me drugged on sleeping potions for the entirety of the voyage. No offense to you, Princess Alyssa, because you seem like a very nice girl, but you're not…" He trailed off and shrugged.

"Marrying me would be like pulling teeth?" she offered, grateful for his honesty, though even to her own ears, the horror in her voice was clear. She had always considered Queen Snow to be one of the most vapid individuals she had ever met, but to go this far… Poor Christopher, she thought. As bad as she had it, she thought it was safe to say that even her father wouldn't treat her in such a manner. Still, from his tone, he didn't want to dwell on it, so she knew she had to forge ahead in the conversation.

"You're not so bad yourself if first impressions are to be believed," she said. "Honestly, I do believe that if my hand was to be forced, marrying you wouldn't be the worst thing in the world given the rest of my options. But, I don't want to marry you either, Christopher."

A weight seemed to disappear off his shoulders as she spoke, and Alyssa smiled, glad that they were on the same page. Beneath her blouse, her wedding ring was warm against her skin, and she wondered if she should tell him. No… It would be best to tell her parents first, but that would have to wait for a few days. She had to give her father time to relax after their journey or risk his temper flaring.

"Who is she?" asked Alyssa, after a time of comfortable silence. When he looked at her in surprise, she shrugged. "You didn't need to say anything. It was written in your face when you talked about getting married."

"Who is he?" countered Christopher. "You said you loved another, so what's the story there?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours, given that I asked first," she replied, leaning back in her chair.

He studied her before looking down at Pooh. The bear nodded, as if giving him permission, and Christopher patted Pooh on the head before leaning against his headboard and regarding her with a careful look.

"Her name is Priscilla Blanchard," he said. "Her father is a beekeeper. Her mother makes candles. She lives in the town near my castle, and sells her family's wares in a little shop at the end of Rosemary Lane."

"A commoner?" Alyssa raised an eyebrow. _Who would have thought?_ "Your mother must have thrown quite the fit. I would have paid to see it."

Christopher chuckled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, her reaction was something, all right. She dressed me in rags and had me sleep in the servant's quarters for a weekend, not in a bedroom, but in one of the supply closets, to remind me that I was a prince and not a peasant."

Alyssa sucked in a breath. "That's awful." Something blazed within her. Even though she had just properly met Christopher, she could already tell that he was the good sort. If the circumstances were different, she could very well see the pair of them being friends. Maybe they still could be, she reasoned… In a way, he reminded her of Nick, before Nick have overcome his personal inner demons. The smiles never reached Christopher's eyes, the expression always had a guard, but… Nick had always had his friends and family.

From what she was piecing together, all Christopher Charming had were his toys. Her heart ached for him, it did, and right then and there, she resolved that even if the circumstances surrounding their meeting were absolutely awful, she would be his friend for as long as he needed.

"I'm used to it," he replied. "So, what about you? Who's the lucky man?"

"Prince Cornelius Fitzherbert," she began, noting the way his eyes widened. As they continued to speak, she couldn't help but smile as Christopher's guard steadily dropped, until at last his smile reached his eyes.

* * *

"I spoke to my future husband today," said Alyssa, her image wavering slightly in the two-way mirror. "He's quite nice. If I didn't love you as much as I did, you might be in trouble, Cor."

Cornelius chuckled, rolling his eyes at his wife through the two-way mirror. It had been a while since they'd spoken, and just the sound of her voice was enough to send a warm thrill down his chest. Lying back in bed, shirtless and with one arm tucked behind his head, he hoped that he was giving off an air of sexiness and masculinity, as opposed to lovable good-ball, as Alyssa had described him after their first time together.

Which, mind you, had not been his fault. She'd been as clumsy and awkward as he had, and she'd very nearly dislocated his hip once he'd let her get on top. Which, again, was not his fault. He was not weak! She was just… freakishly strong.

"Is that so?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Do I have to duel Christopher for your hand?"

"Sweetheart, you don't have to duel for what you already have," she reminded. "How did your parents take the news?"

"Mum is still coming around, though Dad's just offended I didn't tell him. They took it remarkably well, actually. What about yours?"

"Funny story," she replied, looking sheepish. "I haven't told them yet."

He paused, feeling as though she'd just slapped him across the face. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he bit his lower lip, unsure of what to say. He knew things were more difficult for her, considering King Adam, than it was for him and his parents, but it had been just under two weeks since they'd gotten married, and he had hoped that by now, they didn't have to hide.

How the times had changed, he thought with a sigh. These days, Nicholas was the one without secrets, able to openly hold his significant other's—well, if Morgan could be called that, considering how new that relationship was—hand and steal as many kisses as he wanted, whereas Alyssa and himself were the ones in hiding.

Well, he wasn't, but apparently she was.

"Cor," she asked, tapping on the mirror. "I swear, I'll tell them. I'm just waiting for the right time."

"It's fine," he said, even if it wasn't. "I just thought that us getting married meant no more hiding, you know?"

She sighed. "One week, Cor," she said. "I'll tell them within the week. Now, can we talk about something else, please?"

"Sure, he said. If she said that she would tell them, he believed her. No matter what happened, he knew that she would never lie to him—it simply wasn't their way. It was always easier that way, he found. If something had been done, they confessed, and then they'd argue and make-up.

That was the one rule in his relationship with Alyssa: never go to bed mad.

"Did I ever tell you the story of how I almost drowned?" he said, deciding that made a fitting change of topic. He had glossed over the story in the past, but now that she was his wife, he saw no reason not to share. It would be better for her to hear it from his than from one of the many gossips in his castle, after all.

"Vaguely," she replied. "It was a boating accident, wasn't it?"

"Well, more or less. I had decided to go sailing on my pleasure barge that day, and so I let the crew know. We were out in the bay for a few hours before I decided to go below-decks to get my fishing rod. I'm not sure what exactly caused the accident, but it was a bad one. The ship was under before I could even get out of my cabin, and as it filled with water, I couldn't get out because something had collapsed against the door on the other end, so I grabbed my sword and tried breaking a porthole instead. I managed to, but by then, the water was already over my head."

"Godmother above, Cornelius," she said, her eyes wide. "The way you told me the story the first time, I just thought you were exaggerating about drowning."

"How did I give you that impression?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because all you said was that your barge sank in the bay right outside your castle harbor and that you almost drowned, and you were laughing about it," she pointed out. "You did not say you were trapped in your cabin for a few minutes."

"Twenty," he said with a shrug. "By the time Mum hauled me out of the wreckage, there was more water in my lungs that there was air. If it wasn't for her Healtouch, I'd have died."

"Cor…" She paused, her voice worried. Scratching her head, she looked at him through wide eyes. "The human body can't go without oxygen that long. Twenty minutes is impossible."

"I know." He sighed. "But, there must have still been a spark of life in me, and that was enough for my mother to latch onto and heal the rest. I mean, she has brought my father back from the dead before."

"Cor… what if she did the same thing with you?"

At this, he froze, the mirror almost slipping from his fingers. No, it couldn't be. He was certain that if he'd died, he'd remember it. Besides, his mother didn't have that kind of power anymore. She'd used it all to bring back his father. Healing was one thing, but resurrection was no longer within her power.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember that fateful day. He'd been terrified, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. The water had been filling up the cabin far too quickly, and once it had gone over his head, he'd been too busy trying to squeeze out the porthole to remember much else. That was all he could really remember. The rest was hazy and forgotten, an empty pit in his memory that had always felt raw… he'd always assumed he'd just lost consciousness.

His heart was thudding in his chest, and his breath was coming in quick pants as realization dawned. No, his mother had healed him. She'd told him that's what had happened… but Alyssa was right. The human body couldn't survive that long without oxygen. It just couldn't.

And… he flexed his fingers, letting the sparks of his light dance around his fingers… when he'd regained consciousness, he'd had his powers. His ability to manipulate and project light was not one he'd been born with, but… he'd just assumed it had been dormant until the shock of nearly drowning had awakened it in him.

"Cor?"

"I died…" he whispered, feeling himself go limp as realization dawned. "Tsar Luna above… I died."

* * *

Falling asleep with Morgan in his bed had become rather normal, Nick thought to himself as he climbed in beside his already sleeping boyfriend. He wondered if the rest of the castle had noticed that Morgan hadn't slept in his own room since the night he'd told Nick about his past, and if so, what rumours were currently circling amongst the staff and guards. He snorted. It was probably something randy and debaucherous, which irritated him, but there really was no way for him to set the record straight without adding further credence to the rumours.

The truth was, sharing a bed with Morgan helped him sleep, and from what his boyfriend had told him, the feeling was mutual. Save for the awkward moment two days ago when he'd woken to find Morgan—still asleep, mind you—poking him in the thigh with something he really couldn't help given that they were both teenage boys and prone to morning wood, they'd progressed no further than a few heated make-out sessions. That, thought Nick, was just how he liked it.

He wasn't ready for anything further. He couldn't deny that the thought had crossed his mind, but it just didn't feel right… not yet. Morgan still wasn't comfortable removing his shirt, for one thing, and Nick was still figuring things out. He cared for Morgan… and he was certain that he liked him… but sex, in his opinion, should only happen if there was love to go with it. And, as much as his heart beat faster whenever Morgan kissed him, he didn't yet know if what they shared was love.

It had been little under a month since they started dating, he reasoned. Sure, Aunt Rapunzel and Uncle Eugene were head over heels for each other after just three days, but Alyssa had said that it had taken almost half a year for her parents. And, as for his own parents… his mother and his father had dated for nearly a year before falling in love, according to Aunt Anna…

Speaking of Aunt Anna, he couldn't make the same mistake she had. He knew the story of Prince Hans and the ruin that nearly befallen Arendelle because his Aunt had believed herself to be in love too soon. As heir to the throne, he couldn't afford to make the same mistakes that she had.

He swallowed. To be honest, he didn't even think he was ready for another person to see him naked. The last time he'd visited Corona, his cousin had dragged him to the beach, and wearing nothing but swim trunks had left him twitching in embarrassment for days. He was very tall and very pale, and while he had some lean muscle on his body, he was also quite thin. In fact, he'd even taken to wearing a shirt and pyjama pants rather than his usual boxers to bed to avoid showing Morgan more skin than was strictly necessary.

Not for the first time in his life, he found himself looking at the window, wishing his father was here in the castle rather that bringing snow and cheer to children halfway around the world. These were the kind of things a son could ask his dad for advice on, weren't they? Dating advice and the like?

He sighed. He was overthinking things, as usual.

"You going to lie awake all night worrying?" asked Morgan, startling Nick out of his thoughts. "It's bugging me."

"How is it bugging you?" asked Nick, rolling over to meet his boyfriend's eyes. Morgan looked sleepy, and his eyes had shifted as they usually did when he wasn't fully awake. It was a bit unnerving, really, to see a dragon's reptilian eyes on his boyfriend's face, but he considered himself lucky.

On the first night they'd spent together, he'd woken up to find a tail wrapped around his waist. It was amusing to look back on, but it had been quite unsettling when it had happened, and clearly Morgan did not have quite as much control over his draconic nature as he let on.

"Well," said Morgan. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, they had returned to normal. "You're making the bed really, really cold."

For the first time that night, Nick noticed that his frost was dancing around his fingertips. Well, it would appear that the pot had been calling the kettle black, given that his own powers were quite temperamental.

"Sorry," he said, dispelling the frost. The cold lingered as he climbed out of bed and headed for the fireplace. The fire had died down earlier that evening, and all that remained were a few glowing embers. Grasping a few logs from the pile, he tossed them in, stirring up the sparks and looking back at his boyfriend, who was now sitting up in bed. "You mind? I hate starting fires."

Morgan chuckled before wandering over. Kneeling beside the fireplace, his boyfriend exhaled a gentle stream of fire over the logs, which took flame in an instant. As a comforting warmth filled the air, Morgan climbed to his feet and slung an arm around Nick's shoulders.

"You didn't need to do that," he said, though by his smile, Nick could tell he was grateful for the warmth.

"I'd rather get out of bed to start a fire than wake up to see you've lost your tail to frostbite," he replied, leaning in to give his boyfriend a quick peck on the cheek. Turning around to head back to bed, he stifled a yawn. Then, he paused upon realizing that Morgan hadn't followed.

"Something wrong?" he asked. "Want me to bring the blankets over for a bit so they warm up?"

"No," said Morgan, gazing into the flames. "I just… I think I'm ready to let you see my wings."

"Really?" asked Nick, immediately turning around and trying to mask his eagerness. He'd never seen a dragon's wings before… but he knew it was a sensitive subject for Morgan, so he hadn't pushed after that night. "What brought that on."

"You reminding me about the tail incident," said Morgan, a touch of humour in his voice. "I am still very sorry about that, by the way."

"It could have been worse," replied Nick with a shrug. "I think I'd have had a heart attack if I rolled over and found myself face-to-face with a your head in dragon form."

"What? You don't think I'd be a good kisser with scales and a snout?" asked Morgan, chuckling.

"I was more afraid of the morning breath," replied Nick, grinning. Morgan still hadn't turned around, but by his movements, Nick could see that he was unbuttoning his pyjama top.

"My point is, I'm sharing your bed. You've seen my tail and my eyes, and I dare say you noticed my looking a bit scaly around the neck. Hell, two days ago you woke me up by jumping out of bed in alarm because you'd felt my boner against your leg. I feel like… you seeing my scars wouldn't be that bad."

"When you put it like that…" Nick trailed off, running a hand through his hair. It hadn't just been Morgan either. Things had changed for the two of them in the week they'd been, for all intents and purposes, living together. There were nights when Morgan had to wake him up because he'd been chilling the room in his sleep, and there'd been that rather embarrassing dream he'd had the other night, during which he'd somehow moaned Morgan's name in his sleep.

It was always awkward for the first five minutes, and then, they both just laughed it off. Was this something that just happened, he wondered, or was it just them growing comfortable around each other? There will still a fair few boundaries, such as neither of them changing in front of the other or walking into the bathroom while it was in use, but… he glanced at Morgan. His boyfriend was right.

They had grown a lot closer than he'd expected since the first night he'd fallen asleep with Morgan in his arms.

A second later, Morgan slipped off his shirt and set it down on the chair beside the fireplace. Nick gasped, unable to stop himself. He'd expected the scars, but he'd not been ready for them. There were dozens of them, healed and pale against Morgan's lightly tanned skin, criss-crossing from his waist to his neck. Without meaning too, Nick reached out and ran a hand across his boyfriend's back, wincing at the sensation. Some of the whip's lashes hadn't healed correctly, he thought, because some of the scars were raised and slightly bumpy, whilst others were smooth and faded.

"I'm so sorry," whispered Nick, removing his hand from Morgan's back as something twitched below his boyfriend's shoulder-blades. Then, as if folding themselves out of his skin, a pair of wings unfurled into the air. They were like those of a bat, he realized. Deep-purple skin membranes stretched between black wing-bones, and the wings were large, nearly spanning the length of his entire room.

Reaching out, he touched them, and they felt oddly heated. So had Morgan's tail, he realized, thinking back.

"They grow larger if I fully transform," said Morgan, turning his head to look over his shoulder. "But, when I just need the wings, this is what they look like." His gaze drifted down to his shoulder, and he winced visibly at the sight of the scars. "Ugly, aren't they?"

Nick paused. The scars _were_ ugly, an awful and permanent reminder of what Morgan had endured when he'd just been a child. But… in the flickering light of the fire, with his dark hair and wings, and the nervous smile on his lips, Morgan was also rather beautiful, Nick thought.

No, he decided, coming up behind Morgan and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend's waist. On either side of him was one of his boyfriend's wings, and he stood there for the longest moment, nestled between those wings and pressed against his boyfriend.

Morgan was always rather beautiful. Nick flushed at the thought, even if he hadn't said it out loud. It sounded so cheesy, even to him, but it was true.

"They're a part of you," he reassured Morgan, pressing his lips to the nape of his boyfriend's neck. "That makes them perfect to me." He froze. Oh, Godmother, he'd thought that sounded romantic in his head, but that could really be taken the wrong way…

Hurriedly, he added, "Granted, I wish you didn't have them, but seeing as they're there, I really don't mind them, because you know, it's you, and well, I really like the way you look, scars and all—"

"Babbling, Nick," interrupted Morgan. "And… thanks."

With that, Morgan closed his eyes, and his wings gently retracted into his back, as if by magic. Which, they pretty much were, reasoned Nick, who had still not recovered from his babbling… Pulling away from his boyfriend, he let Morgan lead the way back to bed, and he noticed that Morgan hadn't slipped his shirt back on.

"Morgan," he said, nudging his boyfriend. "Your shirt."

"If it's fine with you, can I keep it off? I normally don't sleep with one on… I just had to because I didn't want you to see…"

Nick paused, glancing at the bed. To hell with it, he'd already woken up with a frikken nine-foot tail wrapped around his waist, to say nothing of the boner incident.

"To tell you the truth, I usually sleep in my shorts," he replied. He smiled, acknowledging that he sounded both nervous and hesitant. "So, if you promise to not laugh at me, I don't mind you losing the shirt."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, and Nick didn't miss the quick smirk that crossed his boyfriend's lips. "Go ahead, Frosty, but know that I just go without the shirt, really, and I'd freeze to death without my sweatpants. So, no legs for you." Wagging a finger, he leaned over to peck Nick on the lips before climbing into bed.

Nick slipped off to the bathroom to change. He was a child of ice and snow, and the cold of the night didn't bother him at all, and… he felt comfortable just being himself around Morgan. Still, he bit his lip as he walked back into the bedroom five minutes later, fully aware that Morgan would be there waiting for him. This was different. Even if they'd just be sleeping… the only person to see him in nothing but his underwear since he'd turned thirteen was Cornelius, and that didn't count because they were cousins who'd shared a room quite a few times over the years, changed in front of each other, and even helped each other buckle on their armor before training. Alyssa had once walked into his bedroom to talk during her stay, but he'd had a shirt on then, and so it didn't count either, because she was basically a sister to him.

But, Morgan was his boyfriend and he most certainly was looking at him in a way that other people just didn't, judging by the way his eyes moved from Nick's chest to his abdomen to his legs. There was silence in the room for a long time, and then Morgan chuckled. Nick felt his cheeks blaze as he hurriedly ducked into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

"You said you wouldn't laugh," accused Nick, wanting to slap himself in the face for being so bold. Godmother, he'd change immediately. He couldn't believe he'd just… Oh Godmother… Morgan had seen almost everything there was to see of him, save for the parts that Nick really wasn't comfortable with showing just yet. _Tsar Luna, if you're watching, do me a favour and strike me down right now, please?_

"I'm not laughing at how you look," said Morgan hurriedly, the amusement fading and being replaced with sincerity. Propping himself up on one arm, he met his eye and smiled, reaching out to place the other hand on Nick's chest. "I was laughing because I was just thinking how utterly ridiculous it was that you'd think I'd laugh at you in the first place, because you have nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Morgan," Nick groaned, blushing for a different reason altogether now.

"Frosty, I like the way you look." Morgan leaned over to press a kiss to his lips. It was soft and brief, but all the reassurance Nick needed to relax. "You're perfect to me as well."

As he leaned in for another kiss, Nick reached out to stop him. Pressing a hand against Morgan's chest, he took a deep breath. Yes, it felt nice to be comfortable with his boyfriend, and yes, it felt amazing to not be stifled by clothes whilst he slept, and yes, Morgan's chest was on full display and making him feel things he really shouldn't, but he needed to make himself clear.

"Morgan… I'm not ready for—"

"Sex?" Morgan asked, flushing. "Look, Nick, I like you. I really do. But, and this is a very big but… Nick, don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't want to have sex with you right now. We've just now gotten comfortable enough to sleep in the same bed in sleepwear we actually like sleeping in, and I like that. I like that we're taking things slow, and I like that even though my incredibly attractive boyfriend is right next to me in just a pair of boxers, he hasn't tried to get me out of my pants as well. I like that you waited until I was ready to show you my wings… and my scars. Hell, I even liked waking up with no feeling in my arm that one time because you'd decided to use it as a pillow."

"I don't want to mess this up, Nick, and even if we were to break up, I would still want you to be my friend. So, how about we just continue as we are, slowly and at our own pace, and when I'm ready and you're ready, and only when it's the both of us that are ready at the same time, then we'll have sex?"

Lifting himself off the pillow, Nick pressed his lips to Morgan's, reaching out to wrap his arm around his boyfriend's head. As Morgan's tongue slid into his mouth, and Nick's fingers tangled in his boyfriend's hair, he felt the weight slip of his chest. He was happy with the pace at which they were going, and now he knew that Morgan was as well.

 _I love you_ , he thought, as the kiss broke and he slumped against the pillow, stifling a yawn. The thought surprised him, but Morgan's speech about taking things at their own pace had only deepened his feelings for the other boy. He wasn't ready to say it out loud… not by a long shot, but in his mind, he knew it.

He, Prince Arnadalr XXVII, Nicholas Jackson Frost, heir to the throne of Arendelle, was in love with Morgan Thorn.

* * *

"Fight on," he yelled. "To the last breath, fight on!"

Li Jian unfurled his fan, feeling the familiar tug in his gut from drawing on too much of his magical reserves. The fan glowed as the wolf spirit erupted from it, tearing across the field and ripping into the throat of the nearest Hollow One. Pus erupted from the wound as the beast went down, and Jian gasped as the wolf flickered and vanished, its job done for the moment.

A second later, another Hollow One had lurched forward to take the place of its fallen comrade, and Jian lashed out again, this time with a hawk. A slender rivulet of blood ran down the corner of his mouth as he backed away, his head throbbing. There wasn't much left in him, and if reinforcements did not arrive at their position soon, his small band of survivors would be overrun.

"Captain Jian, we need to fall back to the village," said Azura, his second-in-command. Her bowstring twanged as she let fly two arrows at once, felling a Hollow One in both yellowed eyes.

"Have the civilians been evacuated?"

"Those that are too young or too old to fight," she replied, her voice hard. "We've put swords in the hards of the rest."

"They'll die," he protested. There was a loud scream and blood splattered as one of his swordsman was ripped in half, proving his point. Wincing, he raised his fan and released a flurry of bats to cover their retreat.

"They're going to die anyway," retorted Azura. "At least this way, they die with pride."

He fell silent, too tired to argue. As they drew back, the dozen or so soldiers that remained of his squadron followed. It had been nearly a week since the Great Wall had fallen and the base under his command had been reduced to ruins, and he'd have hoped to have stumbled across either of his parents by now. At the very least, he knew his father was in the field, alongside the rest of the Imperial Army. His mother would likely still be at the Imperial Palace, preparing it for siege. The alternative was that they both were dead, but even as the thought came to mind, he scoffed.

His mother was a one-woman army, and his father was the greatest swordsman to ever live. There was no way either of them could have fallen.

Passing by the trembling villagers, he took a look around the place. These people were predominantly rice farmers, and it showed; there were two circles of small homes surrounding a central well. He shuddered. The largest building was both an inn and tavern, though he'd come to learn it also doubled as a trading post and village hall. The village itself was ensconced within a wooden palisade, for all the good it would do. He'd seen the Hollow Ones break through The Great Wall with their fists, and for all the protection this palisade offered against wild animals and lowly bandits, the wood would snap like twigs as soon as the first Hollow One reached.

"Go make sure the boys are all right," he said to Azura, gesturing at the remainder of his soldiers. She took off without a word, and he slumped against the nearest wall, gasping for breath. Magic, even ancestral spirit magic such as his, took a toll, and he'd had little rest since the invasion had begun, and even less to eat.

He had just closed his eyes to catch a few seconds of rest when a horn sounded through the night. Steeling himself, he climbed to his feet and drew his fans, making for the gate. His men were already there, beaten down and weary, and for the first time, he noticed Azura was favouring her right leg as she walked. She must have injured it during the fighting. The villagers stood with them, inexperienced men and women clutching swords, pitchforks, and in one man's case, a sickle.

"Hold fast," he said, as a bellow tore through the night, closer than he would have liked. "Show these beasts that the people of the Imperium will not go quietly into the night."

Then, the wooden gates exploded in a shower of splinters, and the first Hollows Ones stormed in. With a wave of his fan, Jian summoned a tortoise spirit. Larger than he was, the lumbering animal was translucent and pale, but its massive shell plugged the gap in the wall well enough. The Hollow Ones beat against it, trying to break through the magic, but Jian had other problems.

Those foes that were already inside the village were fighting with a ferocity that he had never seen before, tearing through his forces as if they were little more than sticks. One soldier fell, and then another, and by the time the tortoise spirit had faded, he could count just six of them in all, forming a small circle around the well. Azura's bow-string twanged as his fans blazed, a sickle slashed through the air, over and over again, and one of his soldiers stabbed out with a pike.

"Ancestors, give me strength," Jian whispered as, with the greatest effort it had ever cost him, he swirled both his fans out before him. The steel and fabric blazed, fire pouring forth as the spirit phoenix burst forth, circling the survivors and scattering the Hollow Ones with its purifying flames.

Blood dripped from Jian's nostrils as he staggered on his feet, his temples feeling as though someone had taken a hammer to them. Stomach twisting and heart thumping, he reached out to grasp the well behind him for support. That was it. He doubted he'd be able to conjure so much as a mouse now.

Then, a lumbering fist came hurtling through the flames, slamming into his chest. With a cry, he went flying, crashing through the front wall of a nearby hut. Black spots danced in his vision as he tried to crawl back to his feet, but everything hurt, and he was just so tired. How easy it would be, he thought, to just close his eyes and die here. How simple would it be to just leave the fight to somebody else?

.

" _The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all," his mother said, reaching out to brush the hair out of his eyes. "Be that flower."_

" _Men are not flowers," he protested, shaking her off. He was sixteen years old, and he wasn't a little boy. He was a soldier of the Imperium, and it was time for him to leave for his first deployment._

" _Yet, the message remains clear, all the same," she said. "When the days are darkest, you must be the light that guides your own path, my son."_

 _._

Adrenaline surged through Jian's body as he staggered to his feet and spat out a mouthful of blood. The words his mother had said to him when he left home for the first time as a soldier echoed in his ears as he narrowed his eyes and, unfurling his fans, he dragged himself back out of the cottage. It seemed quieter now that his phoenix had cleared up the worst of the threat, but there would be more of them. His magic may be spent, but his fans were steel, and there was still strength in his arms.

However, when he walked out of the hut, all he saw were corpses and ashes, and a single Hollow One looming over the well.

He swung low, slashing a Hollow One across the back. Pus and black blood oozed out of the wound as he slashed again, slicing through rotted bones and dropping the monster to its knees. Furling his fan, he stabbed it into the back of the Hollow One's head, letting it fall to the ground with an almighty thump.

"I was sure you were done for," said Azura, falling into step beside him. Her bow was broken and she held a bloody sword, but she was still alive, and that was the important thing.

"It isn't over until it's over," he replied. "How many?"

"A handful. There's three of us, a dozen more on the other side of the village, and then maybe half a dozen scattered around. That phoenix of yours cleared out most of the Hollow Ones, but they'll be back."

"They already are," he said, glancing around. In the shadows of dusk, he saw the lumbering shapes approaching through the ruined village. What was left of his forces gathered around him, and he raised his fans, a determined glint in his eyes.

As he readied himself for his final stand, a plume of fire tore through the sky.

The reinforcements were unlike anything he had ever seen. Their mighty wings darkened the skies, and their breath was fire, storm, and fury. Lightning crackled and flames roared, the air growing thick with pulses of frost and jets of wind. Dragons, dozens of them, whirling through the sky. The war-cries of their riders tore at Jian's ears; arrows and spears raining down alongside dragon breath, and as he slumped against the ruined cottage, relief surged through him.

An emerald drake came to rest beside him, and its rider dismounted. Clad in crimson armor, she brandished the ancient spear of her homeland, Gungir, and her brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail that hung to her waist. She wore an eyepatch, and though it had been a great many years since last Jian had seen her, he recognized her at once.

"Princess Sigrun." He coughed, bringing a hand to his lips to wipe away the blood. "Better late than never."

"Captain Jian," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Forgive me, I was under the impression the Imperium's Troops would last longer than the week it took me to gather my father's forces."

He couldn't help the faint chuckle that escaped his lips, despite the circumstances. Even after all these years, Sigrun always gave as good as she got.


	15. Mirror Mirror

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 **Mirror Mirror**

* * *

"Christopher, I have been having a think, and the thought I have had is that, given my think, it would not be so bad for you to marry the pretty girl," said Pooh, nudging him in the cheek.

Stifling a yawn, Christopher rubbed at his eyes. It was late… far too late for Pooh to be awake, but his teddy had been having a bit of trouble getting accustomed to life in Amoré. He sighed. If he wanted, he could probably use his Dreamtouch to give Pooh a few hours of peaceful sleep, but he didn't like using his power on his friends. It always felt invasive, though he had used it on Margaret a few times when she'd been bugging him.

That was different, though. She was his sister, not his friend.

"Pooh, there's honey in Renvale," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not getting married to Alyssa just so you can eat rose-infused honey and peppermint crackers."

"But if we go home, you can't see Priscilla anymore, so no more of the nice honey from her shop," said Pooh. "But here, Mister Potts will be bringing me all the flavoured honey I can eat."

Christopher sighed. If only he could approach life with the same casual innocence as his friend, things could be so much easier. In moments like these, he missed being a child. The hardest choice to make when he'd been six and as innocent as Pooh was whether to have pudding or jelly for dessert, but now he had bigger fish to fry.

"Pooh, do you ever think there's more to life than honey?" he asked, slumping back against his pillows and staring at his ceiling. He missed his bedroom in Renvale. There'd been glow-in-the-dark stars there, which his father had put there when he'd been two.

"Well, yes, Christopher," said Pooh, looking very thoughtful. Tapping his furry head, the bear smiled. "There are friends and love and playtime, and there's happiness."

"What's there to be happy about?" asked Christopher. "The fact that my mother has essentially exiled me? That my father or sister haven't so much as written to me to explain themselves or ask about how I am? That most of my friends are still in Renvale, if Mother hasn't locked them away in a trunk or something? That the girl I love has no idea where I am, only that I suddenly stopped coming by? That, if I marry Alyssa, like they're forcing me to do, I'll have to abdicate my crown?"

Pooh was silent before hugging him, gently nuzzling his head against Christopher's shoulder. Sighing, Christopher reached out to pat the bear on the head. Pooh had never grown up, not really, but he loved him all the same. Moments like this were why. Even when the bear didn't know what to say, his hugs were comforting enough.

"I miss Piglet," said Pooh. "And Rabbit and Tigger and all the rest. But I have you, so it isn't so bad. And, Christopher, you have me."

"Thanks, Pooh," he replied, slowly sliding out of bed. All of a sudden, there was a crushing weight on his chest, and he needed to leave the room. "I need to go the bathroom," he lied, and without another word, he'd slipped on his shoes and all but bolted out the door.

The air in the corridor was stifling, and he clenched the railings of the balustrades to steady himself before hurrying down the corridor. He needed fresh air… be it a balcony or a doorway to the castle gardens, and more than that, he needed to find a place that he could scream without waking the entire castle. His hands trembled as he picked up his pace, running down the corridors, not knowing where he was going.

All too soon, he realized he was lost, but he didn't slow down. He had always been lost, he thought, unable to find his way, even in his own castle. There'd been courtiers and dignitaries, and forced meetings with the nobles, and balls thrown by his mother in which he'd been forced to dance even though he had two left-feet and hated it. His crowned weighed more than all the gold in his father's vaults, and his collar was like a noose.

Why then, had the reminder that marrying Alyssa would force him to abdicate leave him feeling like this? In Renvale, the laws of inheritance were very different than they were in the rest of the world. A king could have no conflicts of interest, and as such, his consort could not be an heiress to another kingdom. His sister's betrothal to Prince Nicholas Frost must have fallen through… that was the only reason his father would consent to sending him to Amoré for this wedding. His mother's plan was becoming sickeningly clear.

She had never approved of his choices, or accepted him as the heir to his father's throne. Christopher was not the perfect prince… he was the Prince of Fools, the royal joke of Renvale, the young man who still slept with a talking teddy bear. Forcing his marriage to Alyssa… he'd be removed from the Renvale line of succession, passed over for Margaret, who was everything a princess should be as far as their mother was concerned. She'd marry a wealthy duke or baron, no doubt, and she'd rule Renvale from the throne that should be his.

He burst through a small doorway and gasped as he found himself in the fabled Rose Gardens of Amoré. The air was sweet, and thousands of flowers bloomed all around him, roses of all colours and sizes. Fountains sprayed gentle streams of water into the air, and the rose-covered trellis walls were almost like a maze. Not thinking, Christopher ran into the labyrinth of roses, and as soon as he was lost between the hedges, he screamed.

Dropping to his knees, he slammed his fists against the ground, tears stinging in his eyes. It wasn't fair. All of the things he'd loved had been yanked away from him, leaving him alone in a foreign land with Pooh as his only companion. It hurt. But, now he realized that he'd lost more than just his friends and home. He'd lost his dream.

As King of Renvale, he could have changed so much. When he was king, he could clear the court of his mother's lickspittles and rewrite the laws which unfairly taxed the lower classes. The corrupt nobles would be replaced. He'd be able to change things for the better, to usher in a new era of happiness for his people, and more importantly, he'd have the chance to wash away the stain on his family name. Under his rule, maybe people would once again consider the Royal House of Charming to be, well… charming?

Renvale would be better under his rule… all that he'd endured over the years… all the pain and heartache, the loneliness and solitude, the constant humiliations… he'd withstood them all because he knew, dammit he knew, that one day he'd be king and he'd be able to make things right for people like him: those that were different from the norm.

And, just like everything else, that had been taken away from him.

Wrenching the signet ring from his finger, he glared at it. It was gold and embossed with his crowned robin. Without a word, he flung it as hard as he could, hearing the sharp clink of metal against stone as it slammed into a nearby statue and bounced off. With a splash, it landed in a deep pool and sank to the bottom.

"You'll want that back," said a gentle voice from behind him, and he whirled around, eyes wild.

Princess Alyssa stood behind him, dressed in a robe, with a sympathetic expression on her face. Reaching down to place a hand on his shoulder, she helped him to his feet. Her own ring caught his attention… and he frowned even as embarrassment surged through him. He dismissed the sensation. Being found having what could only be described as an emotional breakdown in the gardens was not the worst thing he'd endured, not by a long shot.

"There are days when I want to fling my diadem at my father's head so hard that it leaves a dent," she said, pulling him into a hug. "It's not the easiest life in the world, having the responsibilities we do as royal heirs."

"Princess Alyssa," he said, taking a deep breath and drying his eyes on his sleeve. "Until you know what it's like to lose everything, don't presume to tell me what I'll want back." Shaking free of her grasp, he made to walk back to his bedroom.

"I'm married," she blurted out, and he froze. Turning around, he bit his lip, anxious to leave, but his curiosity compelled him to stay.

"Before leaving Arendelle, I married Prince Cornelius in secret," she said, raising her hand to show him the ring on her index finger. "Other than Prince Nicholas and his… retainer, you're the first person I've told. I'd appreciate you not mentioning it to my parents just yet."

A dozen thoughts raced through his head, and he felt as though he'd just been hit in the face. Taking a deep breath, he leaned into the nearest solid surface he could find, which was a trellis fence covered in roses. The thorns bit into his skin, drawing blood, but he could barely feel the sting beneath the loud buzzing in his ears.

"You… you?" He gasped for breath. She had still been in Arendelle when she'd eloped… which meant his parents would have still been there and he'd still been in Renvale… which would mean that had she just said something… Suddenly, he was possessed with the sudden urge to scream.

"You should be happy," she said, throwing up her hands. "You said you didn't want to marry me, and now there's no way you can. No power in the world can break a magically binding marital contract."

"I am happy I don't have to marry you, Alyssa," he said, and the bitterness in his voice took him back. "But, I'm also painfully aware that had you said something, said anything, that I'd still be in Renvale, and I'd still have my friends, and I wouldn't have been dragged across the sea to a foreign country in which I know absolutely nobody. Had you said something, Priscilla and I…" he trailed off, breathing a weary sigh.

Turning to make the long trek back to his bedroom, he ignored the way she was staring at him with a gobsmacked expression on her face.

"Congratulations," he said, pausing at the door. "You got your happy ending and, just like every other person in my life, you fucked me over in the process."

* * *

Jian sat at the edge of the camp, clutching a missive in hand, and staring out across the ruined countryside. A battle had been fought here, but the Hollow Ones had already been gone by the time their forces had arrived and made camp on the banks of the Yellow River. There had been corpses, though… thousands of them.

It had taken him all of a minute to recognize their armor and badges. Whatever hope he'd clung to since the invasion had begun had slipped through his fingers within seconds of his arrival. This was the imperial army, and if they had fallen here… no, he didn't want to think about it. Bringing the wineskin to his lips, he drank deep, not even wincing at the sharp burn of the alcohol as it ran down his throat.

Glancing down at the missive in his hand, he clenched his fist. He had read it so often that the words had been burned into his memory, but he unfolded it all the same. Numbly, his eyes glanced over the words, he felt a familiar sting in the corners of his eyes. The words were lies. They had to be. But, if they were, why was he upset?

Well, his nation was in ruins, several of his best friends and comrades were dead, and he'd been fighting a guerilla war for the past three weeks… but while that weighed on him, the pain that came from reading the missive was something different. It was as though a fist had closed around his heart and was steadily tightening its grip. His chest was so tight that it was hard to breathe.

"Problem?"

Looking up, Jian saw Azura surveying him with a concerned look on his face. Not bothering to reply, he held up the missive. As she took it, he returned to his silent vigil.

"To Captain Li Jian," she read. "How do they even know you're alive?"

"Princess Sigrun's messengers have established a line of communication between us and Red Lotus Harbour," he replied, his voice hollow. "I've been given a promotion, by the way. Leader of the Imperial Resistance Forces. Everyone who outranks me is either dead or missing in action."

"Congratulations," she said, before going rigid. He rolled his eyes. It had taken a few minutes to dawn on him as well, but if she read to the very end of the page, she'd get all the confirmation she needed.

"It is with heavy hearts that we inform you of the fall of the Imperial Palace, and the death of your mother, Lady Mulan, who fell in battle. Survivors of the battle praise her valiance and bravery, and we offer you our deepest condolences in these dark times…" She trailed off, swallowing, and suddenly, he felt her arms around him.

He stiffened, instantly thrown off guard. Azura was not the hugging type. Indeed, she was more the type to punch you in the throat and tell you to walk it off. His deputy had always been a harsh woman, and the closest they'd ever come to physical contact had been when she'd kneed him in the groin for making a somewhat sexist comment to his soldiers whilst drunk. Receiving a hug from her… that was new.

"I'm sorry, Jian," she said, awkwardly pulling away. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything." He sighed, hanging his head. "Just… I'd like to be alone for a while."

"Well, you know to find me," she said, squeezing his shoulder before taking off into the night.

He watched her go before bringing the wineskin to his lips again, draining the last few drops. Rubbing as his temples, he groaned. He'd always been rather disciplined, and save for birthdays and the day of his promotion to captaincy, he never drank. Already, he could tell that he'd be feeling it tomorrow, but for once, he didn't care. He wanted to feel numb and forget… at least, just for tonight.

His parents and brothers were dead, and his sister was likely dead as well. His country was in ruins, and he was under no illusions; even with the reinforcements from DunBroch, they would not win. Princess Sigrun was a demon on the battlefield, but even her dragon riders weren't enough to stem the seemingly never-ending tide of Hollow Ones. She had bought them some time, and that was all.

"A nice night for the end of the world, isn't it?"

Jian groaned. What was it about his posture that told people he wanted to speak to them now of all times? Burying his face in his hands, he ignored her, hoping that she'd go away. Of all the people in camp, Princess Sigrun was the last person he wanted to speak with right now. There was too much history between them, and he was hurting and intoxicated, which never boded well.

"I received a letter from Red Lotus Harbour as well," she said, and the bench creaked as she took a seat beside him. "I'm sorry for your loss, Jian. Your mother was one of the finest woman I've ever met."

"Thank you," he said, feeling his throat clench. Tears stung at his eyes, and he hurriedly blinked them away.

"I was still a teenager the first time I met her. It was in Somnia—"

"Renvale," he corrected, unable to help himself. "It was Margaret Charming's Debutante Ball."

"So it was," she replied. "The entire council was in attendance, though the circumstances were so much happier than those of the most recent meeting. I was still training as a Dragon Knight… and I was standing next to my parents when I first caught sight of her. When my father took me over to greet her, I was rather starstruck. I'd read the stories about her since I was a little girl. Lady Mulan of the Imperium was my hero."

"She was mine as well," he replied, looking away. She was trying to help, he knew… but he didn't want to remember that night. It had been the start of a story that he dearly regretted starring in, and… his mother had looked so beautiful that night, in the red silk kimono his father had bought her. She had laughed and smiled and danced… all the things she would never do again.

Jian clenched his fists, wincing when he felt Sigrun's hands over his, holding them steady.

"There was a boy with her at the ball," continued Sigrun. "Young and handsome, and I was smitten as soon as I set eyes on him. He was cocky as only a boy of sixteen can be, truth be told, but he charmed his way into my bed that night, and he received the dubious honour of deflowering a princess."

"He sounds like an asshole." Jian turned away. At twenty-five, thinking back to his teenage years often made him cringe, but there was nothing he regretted more than the way he'd treated Sigrun. It was the main reason he didn't want her here… of all the people in camp, he didn't want her to be the one comforting him. He didn't deserve that from her.

"That's debatable," she replied. "Jian, look at me."

Taking a deep breath, he did so, only to find her pressing another wineskin into his hands. She was not the girl he remembered; he still didn't know the story behind her eyepatch, for one, but she had grown up, just as he had. Swallowing, he brought the fresh wineskin to his lips and drank, closing his eyes as the contents burned its way down his throat.

"I've already seen you at your worst, Jian," she said, reaching out to cup his cheek. "And even when you broke things off with me, I didn't stop loving you. And, I'm not asking you to love me back or to even care about me. I'm just saying… it's me, and you don't have to be strong for me."

As she hugged him, he stopped fighting back the tears and allowed himself to grieve.

* * *

Yuë hated Arendelle. It was cold, and the people were… she didn't know what to think of them. Princess Anna was sweet and polite, and her husband was warm enough, but they were incredibly busy. Prince Nicholas was welcoming enough, and he'd extended the complete hospitality of his castle to her… but he seemed to have even more on his plate than his aunt and uncle, if that was even possible, given that part of their responsibilities including caring for their new baby.

The rest of them, though. She snorted. Princess Brynhildr was a loudmouthed little brat, and as for Morgan… he claimed to be one of Prince Nicholas' retainers, but she doubted the claim. There was a sense of tenderness between them that was very unlike the bond shared between most lieges and their vassals, and to be honest, Morgan seemed exceedingly comfortable around the castle. He ate at the same table as the other royals… and there were suspicious rumours going around the staff quarters that they even slept in the same bedroom.

It was very odd, she reasoned, and she didn't know quite what to make of it. Not that she gave the matter much thought. Morgan Thorn was one of the most insensitive and uncouth individuals she had ever met, and after the manner in which he'd dismissed her mourning at the breakfast table the other day, she very much wanted to acquaint him with her sai.

She sighed. There had been no word from home in weeks, and there was no telling if any members of her family had survived the invasion. For the first few days, she had clung to hope, but reality had sunk in soon after. They were dead. They were all dead, and she was alone.

Blinking, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Sitting up in bed, she turned to the dresser, rubbing at her eyes in disbelief. She must be hallucinating… because the mirror seemed to be rippling, like the surface of a pond that had just had a pebble tossed in. Reaching for her sai, she climbed out of bed and paused, studying the mirror. Then, a hand slid through the surface and she yelped in alarm.

Without hesitation, Yuë raced to the mirror, recognizing it for what it was. A twin mirror—they were exceedingly rare and difficult to enchant, but there was no quicker means of travel in all the known world. She needed to smash it before whoever was using it came through, because there was no plausible explanation as to why someone would be stealing into Arendelle in the dead of night.

She swung her sai with all her strength, and it was a few inches from the mirror when a second arm shot through the glass. Fingers closed around her throat, tighter than a vice, and she coughed as someone lurched through the mirror, knocking her off her feet and landing on top of her. Her head cracked against the floor, and she winced at the ringing in her ears as she took in her attacker.

The first thing she noticed was the hair: half was white and half was black, and the colouring was clearly natural rather than dyed. His eyes were wild and cruel, and he chuckled as he tightened his hold on her throat.

"Why, hello there," he said, smirking at her. "Aren't you an exotic one?" He leaned in as she struggled against his hold, but he was too strong, pinning her to the ground. It was difficult to breath… black spots danced around her vision as she fought for breath, as she beat her clenched fists against his back. He didn't even seem to feel them as he sniffed at her cheek, his smirk deepening. "Hmmm," he said. "It's been a while since I've sampled an Imperial beauty."

"Damon, behave yourself," said another voice, cool and clipped.

Yuë looked around wildly as the grip on her throat loosened. Two women had stepped through the mirror: one with the same hair as Damon, clearly his sister, and the other dressed in dark clothes with a sword at her waist. They were strangers, all of them, and as Damon removed his hand from her throat, she sucked in a grateful breath.

"You're not fun, Renata," he said, rolling his eyes as he sat up, straddling Yuë and, with one hand, pinning her hands together above her head. "Can we at least take her back with us?" He grinned. "She's a fighter, I can tell. It's so long since Dominique and I had a toy who didn't just keel over and die."

"Who are you?" asked Yuë, finally falling still. She needed to escape and warn somebody, but trying to break free from Damon's grasp was an effort in futility. It would be wiser to save her strength and make a break for it when the opportunity presented itself. Her mother had taught her that no matter how hard the wind beat upon the walls, it could not topple the stone… but if one brick was to be removed or damaged, then the entire castle would come crumbling down.

Yuë had to remember that. She was not a fighter, and she was not the strongest woman in the world. If she was to escape, she'd need to wait for the right moment.

"How rude of us," said Damon, his eyes glinting. "But, I think it's best we wait for introductions until the whole party is together." Climbing off her, he stood up, yanking her to her feet alongside him. There was a glimmer of steel, and she fell a chill run down her spine as a knife was forced against her throat.

"Don't scream," said the girl—Dominique, probably—reaching out to squeeze Yuë's cheeks between her long fingers. Her manicured nails dug into Yuë's skin, sharp enough to draw blood, and she grinned. "Now, how about you be a good little girl and take us to see…" She fell silent, looking at Renata.

"Which one do we need to see?" Dominique asked. "The pregnant broad or the Prince Frostballs."

"The Prince, Dominique," Renata replied, rolling her eyes.

"Aaah, yes," said Dominique, turning to pat Yuë on the cheek. "Come along, sweetheart… Lead the way. And one word out of those pretty little lips, and I'll cut them right off."

Yuë gulped and nodded and she walked out the door, a knife at her throat.

* * *

"I've been thinking," said Morgan, raising an eyebrow at his boyfriend. "Would it be possible for you to wear socks to bed?"

Nick frowned. That had come from nowhere, he thought, considering that there'd been no complaints since the pair of them had started sleeping in attire that they both deemed comfortable. Sure, there was still the occasional awkward morning that left them both blushing, and there had been a repeat of the tail incident—which hadn't spooked Nick nearly as much as it had the first time—but other than that, everything had quite normal.

Was there something wrong with his feet? He frowned. It wasn't a part of his body that he often thought about, but they weren't ugly by any means. He didn't have any corns or moles or—

"Nick, babbling," Morgan said, interrupting his train of thought.

"I didn't say anything," he protested.

"Like I can't tell when you're doing it in your mind," Morgan replied with a smirk. "But, seriously, socks wouldn't be that bad."

"Okay… so, why do you think I need to wear socks to bed?"

"Well… Nick, your feet always feel like two ice-cubes at night," said Morgan, sounding slightly apologetic. "I mean, I know your body temperature is lower than most people, and I know I run a little bit on the hot side because, you know, dragon blood and breathing fire… but, when your feet brush against mine at night, it's sort of like my legs have been dipped into a frozen lake."

"But…" Nick frowned. Everything Morgan said made sense logically, and it had been worded very nicely, but there was a slight problem with the whole idea. He hated socks. They made him sweat at night, and he just didn't like them… Maybe he could just get Morgan another blanket or something. "Morgan, I hate socks." He shrugged. "Maybe you could wear them, so there'd be no feet-to-feet contact."

"Nick, I'm not asking for the keys to your treasury here, I'm ju—"

At that moment, the door to his bedroom slammed open, and both of them were instantly sitting up in bed. A second later, Nick realized saw a terrified Lady Yuë walk in, one arm twisted behind her back by a tall stranger, and there was a knife at her throat. Almost instantly, he was on his feet, reaching for his staff, but before he could reach it, he felt something sharp and metallic against his back.

"Make one move, and I'll run you through faster than Dominique here can fillet your boy-toy," said a cold, feminine voice from behind him. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

Fear lurched through him as he stiffly nodded his head. A dagger pressed against his throat as the sword moved away from his back, and slowly, careful not to spook his assailant, he turned in time with her. He hadn't yet gotten a good look at her, but he could feel her breath against his shoulder, and the blade of her sword was now flush against his abdomen. From the way her dagger was biting into his throat, just hard enough for him to feel it but not hard enough to draw blood, she knew exactly how to use her weapons, and one wrong move from him would likely result in his death.

Across the room, Morgan was on his knees. Another woman stood above him; half her hair was black and the other was white, and she had one hand tangled in Morgan's hair, the other poised right above his eye. The metal was duller than the blade against his and Yuë's bodies, Nick realized, and he instantly felt something his heart begin to thud in his ears. Iron… Morgan was a dragon, but there was fairy blood running through his boyfriend's veins as well, and iron was death to fairies.

"I think introductions are in order, aren't they?" asked the man holding Yuë. His hair was the same as the woman's: half-black and half-white, and they looked eerily similar, right down to the deranged glints in their eyes. "I am Damon De Vil, and the sinfully beautiful lass pinning your little fuckbuddy to the ground is my twin sister, Dominique. The one ready to slice you open is…"

"Renata Queen," finished Morgan, and Nick could see him glaring in his direction—not at him, clearly, but at the woman behind him. "How did you get into the castle?"

"Mirror mirror, my dear Morgan," replied Renata with a chuckle. "It's so lovely to see you again. You've grown."

"We can catch up later," hissed Dominique. "I wouldn't mind taking a crack at the ice prince myself," she added, glancing at her brother with a feral, almost sexual look that sent a chill running down Nick's spine. "But, right now, we have work to do."

"Indeed we do," said Damon, quirking an eyebrow. "Right, so here's what we're going to do. Dominique and I are going to stay in this room with the little imperial beauty and wee little Morgan, and you—" He gestured at Nick. "You're going to lead Renata down to the castle vaults, and if anything should go wrong, well… my sister and I are very good at flaying people alive, and to be honest, your boy-toy's scales would make an excellent jacket."

Morgan growled, and Dominique's hand left his hair. A second later, her gloved fingers had closed around Morgan's throat, and almost immediately, he was howling in agony, jerking about and writhing as burns spread across his skin. The knife was still dangerously close to his eye, so close that Nick was terrified his boyfriend would stab himself by accident, and just like that, he knew what he had to do.

"Iron studs on my gloves," she said with a smirk. "I came prepared for playtime."

"Stop it. Don't hurt him. I'll take you to the vaults," he replied, trying to keep his cool and nodding as best he could with a knife pressed against his throat. "If I could at least be allowed to dress… the guards may suspect something is amiss if their gay prince is found wandering the halls in his underwear with a strange woman."

Damon chuckled, though the unsettling glint in his eye never faded. "You're funny, kid," he said with a smirk. "But no dice. Chances are, that one's screaming has already blown our cover, so you're just going to have to tell the guards than unless they want their prince's head on a platter, they'll stand down."

"Let's go then," he said, slowly beginning to walk as Renata followed, her blades never moving from his body. It physically hurt him to leave Morgan in this situation, but it was his only chance at saving the both of them. His ice was fast, but it wouldn't be fast enough to keep the De Vil twins from killing Morgan and Yuë before he could freeze them in place. Cooperation with the scum who'd infiltrated his castle seemed the only way out of this.

The castle was surprisingly quiet outside his bedroom, and it was with a heavy heart he remembered that his guards were very sparse. The bulk of Arendelle's army were either on their way or already in the Imperium with his mother, and the few guards that remained were likely watching the castle's exits and entrances rather than patrolling the corridors. It wasn't as though nightly patrols were even common in Arendelle. The only reason security had been so tight in the past few weeks had been the council meeting—with almost every royal in the world in one castle, security had been of the utmost importance.

Now, however, as he padded down the steps of his castle with a knife at his throat and a sword at his gut, he regretted not seeing that the additional security remained in place. But, who could have foreseen this?

As he walked, a thought crept into his mind, and he bit his lip. If he led this woman to the vaults, who was to say that she wouldn't kill him after getting what she wanted. He was the crown prince of Arendelle, and his magic made him one of the most powerful princes in the world if he did say so himself. If he was in this woman's shoes, he'd take the opportunity to kill him, truth be told.

Slowly, he focused on his magic. A thin layer of ice formed in the whisper of space between his skin and the blades, thinner than paper and yet, harder than diamonds. Careful not to let Renata realize what he was doing, he let the ice creep across his skin until it completely shielded his throat and gut from harm. Secure in the knowledge that he wasn't about to be slit open like a fish, he bit his lip and continued on his way.

"So," he said, "What exactly are you hoping to steal from my treasury?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" she asked, her voice cool. She chuckled. "It's just an old trinket of your father's."

"My father?" he asked. That was a surprise. Other than Twinetender, his father's staff, he hadn't been aware that Jack Frost owned any trinkets, and more to the point, why would he have needed to hide them in the vaults of Arendelle. His father had a treehouse in Neverland, he'd once mentioned, and there really was no place more secure than Uncle Peter's realm.

"What?" Renata snorted. "You really think Jack Frost, the Guardian, would have left your mother and you alone without leaving some emergency means of contacting him?" She chuckled, and the blade dug into the icy membrane shielding his skin. "Looks like someone has daddy issues."

"Daddy issues?" Nick replied, the first vestiges of a plan coming to mind as he led the way through the throne room. She knew about his father, he realized as well, which whilst not a secret, was not the official story that his mother had told the world. That could wait, however, until he was out of this mess. The entrance to the vaults was could be found down the corridor of the room's leftmost door, but he gestured for her to head for the throne itself. From the front of the room, it appeared that the wall behind the throne was smooth and solid, but if you got close enough, you would see that there were two walls. One was a few feet in front of the other, and it extended far enough to conceal the gap between the two. A secret egress for the royal family, he knew, that led to the castle observatory.

However, if his plan was to succeed, then he'd need to keep her talking and therefore, distracted.

"Oh, sweety, have I struck a nerve?"

"Actually, I think you may have been spending too much time with the De Vil twins," he retorted. "If rumours are to be believed, it's surprising that you haven't turned the knife on yourself by now."

She chuckled. "Damon was right. You are funny." Then, the knife dug deep, and Nick knew that he'd be bleeding had his ice not been guarding his throat. "Enough talk. Get to it."

As they slipped into the alcove, Renata whistled. There was a flight of steps ahead of them, descending into what appeared to be a corridor. At the end of the corridor, Nick knew, there was a spiral staircase that led up to the observatory, and from there, it was a second secret passage, this one behind a false wall, that would lead into the city itself.

Renata, however, would never see more than the stairs.

Nick gulped. It was now or never. Trusting his ice membrane to hold up to her blades, he thrust himself forward. The blades glided over the ice with two sharp shrieks as he ducked to a crouch, breaking out of her grasp. As she yelped out in surprise, he spun around and swung out a leg, kicking her off her feet and sending her tumbling over his shoulders.

She shrieked as she went down the stairs, a dozen swear words flying from her lips, but before she could reach the bottom, Nick had shot a bolt of frost ahead of her. It struck the foot of the stairs and, in an instant, burst into a thick wall of ice. Renata slammed into it with a sharp crack and lay still, but Nick didn't bother to check on. Taking a step back, he sealed the top of the staircase with a second wall of ice before whirling around.

"One down, two to go," he muttered as he sprinted back towards his bedroom.

* * *

Morgan had no idea how Nick had been able to remain so calm, but then, his boyfriend had no idea who their uninvited guests were. Perhaps he may have recognized their last names… but he was innocent to the exact nature of the people currently holding them prisoner. Morgan, however, had no such ignorance to shield him from the truth. He knew Renata, and she was every bit her mother's daughter. At the very least, no matter how evil she was, she wasn't cruel… though,that may have changed over the years, as he hadn't seen her since her brothers had been beheaded.

The De Vil twins, on the other hand, he knew only by reputation, but it was a dark one indeed. The pair were sadistic and unhinged, and rumour had it that they were lovers as well, which only served to further illustrate how twisted the pair were. Though they had no powers or magic, they more than made up for it with their thirst for blood. If anything, he was utterly terrified to be alone with them.

Well, he was not alone. Yuë was there, still sobbing in Damon's grip, but she was rather useless, truth be told. If they were to get out of this mess, Morgan realized, it was up to him and him alone. Unfortunately, that wasn't something he could pull off. He could handle Dominique, sure, but Damon's knife would have slit Yuë to the bone in the few moments it took for him to act. The De Vils had fallen silent since Renata had left with Nick, and while Morgan's chest tightened with worry, he knew that he had to save himself before he could even think of helping his boyfriend.

Mercifully, Dominique had stopped squeezing that blasted glove into his throat, not that it help much. His skin felt raw and painful, and slender ribbons of blood ran down his chest from where the iron had burned too deep. Morgan swallowed. This was nothing compared to not some of the tortures he had endured in his life, and he'd just have to bite down on the pain and do something.

" _Yuë, don't react,"_ he aimed the thought in her direction, watching her closely. Mercifully, her only reaction to his projection was to widen her eyes, which would not be enough to alert the De Vils. " _I think I can take out Dominique, but can you fend off Damon long enough for him not to kill you. Blink once if yes."_

She studied him, biting at her lip. The knife at her throat glinted in the crackling firelight, and she took a deep breath. Blinking, she shifted, spreading her legs apart and lifting one hand to casually grasp at her other elbow.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Damon, raising an eyebrow.

"My arm hurts from when you twisted it," she replied, and Morgan was impressed at how casual she was able to keep her voice. "I'm rubbing it…"

"Told you she was too fragile for playtime," said Dominique, snorting.

Damon rolled his eyes but remained silent. For the longest moment, the night was still, and then Morgan felt a dull burning at the base of his throat. Nurturing the flames, he clamped his lips shut as he looked at Yuë. " _Now."_

As soon as she moved her hand up to knock the knife away from her throat, Morgan ducked. Dominique's knife glinted, missing his eye and slicing across his brow, and he yelled as the iron burned his skin. Blood obscuring his vision, he rolled out from under her and let loose a mouthful of flames. She shrieked, jumping out of the way, but Morgan was faster.

"Malevolence, I summon thee," he murmured, and in a plume of green mist, his sword appeared in his hand. All great blades had names, he had been told in his youth, which was why he had named his sword after his mother.

After all, the blade had been forged from one of her fangs.

As Dominique leapt out of the way of his flames, he drew back his head and spat out another before lunging, catching her in mid-leap. She screamed as his sword sliced through her abdomen; cutting cleanly through fur, leather, skin, flesh, and bone. He felt the blade jolt in his hands as it cut through her spine, and her scream died as one half of her landed on either side of him, and there was so much blood that it felt like he'd been drenched to the bone.

Wiping the blood out of his eyes with the back of his arm just in time to see Damon backhand Yuë and send her flying across the room, he extended his sword ahead of him.

"Drop the knife or I'll run you through faster than I just dismembered your sister," snarled Morgan, his eyes glimmering as they shifted to his draconic form. Wisps of fire swirled around his lips, and he narrowed his eyes.

Damon's eyes flitted from Morgan to what was left of Dominique… and Morgan visibly saw the copious amounts of sanity potions that Damon no doubt took stop working. His eyes glinted like shards of shattered glass as he let out a primal howl—hatred, anguish, and rage all melded together—and he lunged at Morgan, his blade glittering.

Swatting the knife away with the flat of his sword, Morgan pulled back his fist and slammed it into Damon's nose. Blood spurted between his fingers, and as he pulled back, he swung his sword at the man's head.

Damon barely caught the blade with his knife before tottering backwards. Snarling, he glanced around the room, looking like a caged beast. At that moment, the bedroom door swung open and Nick barged in, his ice sword in his hand. A thrill of relief coursed through Morgan's body; his boyfriend was fine… somewhat shaken, by the looks of it, but fine, and if Tsar Luna was just, Renata was lying dead in some part of the castle.

"I'll say it again," said Morgan, gesturing at the knife with his sword. "Drop it or die."

"You haven't heard the last of me." Damon spat out a mouthful of blood before whirling and slamming himself against the bedroom window. Glass shattered as he leapt through it, a bolt of frost narrowly missing him as he disappeared over the edge.

Morgan rushed to the window just in time to see him uncork a phial as he fell. Purple mist swirled from the confines, surrounding and obscuring Damon from view, and it silently hit the ground. When it cleared, there was no trace of him, and Morgan let out an angry hiss.

"Regina's handiwork, I'll wager," he said through gritted teeth. Turning, he found Nick staring at him with an odd look in his eye, whilst Yuë groaned on the ground, clutching at her head. "What?"

The sound that escaped Nick's lips was one of the strangest things Morgan had ever heard: partly a sob and partly a laugh, and there were a dozen or so emotions in that single sound, not that Morgan could tell them apart at this time.

"I need to check on my Aunt and Uncle and make sure our guests didn't have any friends," said Nick, gasping for breath. "And I need to go find out where the hell all my guards were, because they damn well weren't in the castle. And figure out how my castle was infiltrated in the first place. And make sure Bryn is fine. And get someone to come over from the city to see to your burns. And—"

Morgan, despite being bloody, bruised, and burned, despite the way his hands trembled as he glanced at the two halves of Dominique De Vil and realized that, yes, he had just taken a life, and despite being utterly and completely exhausted, simply sighed and said, "Nick, babbling."


	16. The Daughter of the Sea

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 **The Daughter of the Sea**

* * *

The sea was a cruel mistress.

It was nurturing and tranquil, and on sunny days, the waves were calm against the shores. All manner of life dwelt within the depths; the ocean was everything she wanted to be, beautiful and mysterious, wild and free. Untameable and passionate, and there was nothing in this world that was no gorgeous. It stirred the soul, inspired the imagination, and brought eternal joy to all who lived beneath the surface.

But, the sea was also terrifying in its beauty, raw and unrestrained. When roused, the waves could shatter mountains, and the storms were lethal in their rage. Sailors who spent their entire lives worshipping the sea would be thrown from their ships to drown in the murky depths. In the deepest places of the sea, where even her mother feared to swim, lurked monsters and vile beasts that could swallow ships whole and reduce coastal cities to ruins.

The sea was a cruel mistress, beautiful in its fury and terrifying in its calm, and she was, and always had been, a daughter of the sea.

Standing on the balcony and staring out across the desert, Aquaria could not help but miss her home. Her body ached, still healing from the injuries she had incurred whilst saving Agrabah—and Ali—from ruin, so much so that she had to lean on her spear to remain upright. Still, she could not return to bed. She was stiff from the long weeks she'd spent recuperating, and now that she could walk again, she refused to remain an invalid.

It hurt to stand… but she deserved to be in pain. Closing her eyes, she pressed a hand against her stomach, wincing at the sharp pain that accompanied her touch. Beneath the bandages, her wound was healing, but the healers had said it would remain tender for many months to come, and that her mermaid physiology had been the only thing that had allowed her to survive the ordeal.

"Lord Zeus," she whispered, looking to the sky. "If I meant for any of this to happen, then strike me down." The sky remained calm, an unending expanse of pale blue with not a storm cloud in sight, and she breathed a weary sigh. Even if the gods remained silent upon Olympus, their judgement—or lack thereof, as it were—did little to soothe her guilt.

The plan had been so clear in her mind. She would make the deal with Rumpelstiltskin, and she would save all that she held dear from ruin. Offering up her firstborn had been a necessary evil, she had known, but she had also expected to have the full nine months that came after the immediate danger had been rectified. Deals were difficult to break, and reneging on a contract with Rumpelstiltskin was difficult, but it had been done before by numerous princesses throughout the centuries.

She had believed that there would be time… time enough for Ali and her to find a way of reneging on the deal, of coming up with some alternative. She had not expected Rumpelstiltskin to, now of all times, decide to tighten up the manner in which he did business. She sighed. There was nobody to blame but herself.

She should have read the fine print.

"You called upon the Gods?" a voice asked, and Aquaria stilled. Flower petals danced through the air, caressing her cheek, and she grasped the balustrade for support. Almost at once, a high chair appeared behind her, and she winced as she took a seat.

"Great-Aunt Megara," she said, not bothering to turn. "I was speaking metaphorically."

"Nonetheless, your plea was heard and I have come. Your grandfather wishes you well, by the way."

"Tell him that he should visit more often," Aquaria replied. "All of Atlantica misses King Triton."

"The sea is Ariel's to rule now," said Megara, leaning against the railing. "Olympus… we are very old, Aquaria… surely you can understand why we would prefer letting you mortals run things in our stead."

"You speak as if you were never a mortal," snipped Aquaria, not in the mood for Megara's chatter. "Surely, you did not come here to shoot the breeze."

"I haven't been a mortal for nearly two thousand years," replied Megara. "It's… difficult to recall my old life after all this time. And, no, I came to give you something. A gift from your grandfather. He said to remember who you are."

Aquaria turned as the flower petals danced across her cheek once more, and by the time she had looked to the where she thought Megara's voice had been coming from, there was nobody there. However, set upon the railing was a golden seashell upon a fine chain. Reaching out to grasp it, Aquaria felt a jolt run through her arm, and an image forced its way into her mind.

 _._

" _Poor unfortunate souls,"_ _sang the voluptuous cecaelia, waving her arms over what looked like a cauldron. There was a contract in her hands, gleaming like gold._

 _And, across from her was mermaid no older than she was, holding a quill, her face screwed up in concentration. The mermaid looked so much like her, that Aquaria would have sworn they could be sisters, until she saw the eyes… blue as the sea on a sunny day. The eyes that King Eric always told Aquaria she'd inherited from her mother._

.

The vision went on for some time, and when it came to an end, Aquaria was trembling. Clutching the golden shell in her hand, she longed to fling it off the balcony, but she paused. Her mother had made a deal in her youth… and the only thing that had stopped Ursula from winning had been her parents, standing together against the sea witch.

But… that was not the same. What she had given up… it hadn't been hers to give. She shuddered, taking a deep breath. Why had King Triton sent this to her? What purpose could it serve? Shaking her head, she noted that the sun hung low in the sky, and that the entire day had passed her by whilst she'd been lost in visions of her mother's past. Clenching her fist, she rose from the chair and leaned upon her spear for support. Using it as a walking stick, she turned and headed for the bedroom door.

Whatever her grandfather's reason, the day was passing her by, and she could wait no longer. That which she had lost was already out of reach, too far away for her to grasp, but there was still something she could try to salvage. But, if she was to remain with Ali… she could not lie.

He didn't know what she had sacrificed. The healers knew. How could they not, considering that her wounds had painted a very gruesome yet obvious picture, and she knew that both Sultan Aladdin and Sultanah Jasmine knew as well. They were remaining silent for the moment, but only because they believed Ali should hear it from her.

Opening her door, she winced as pain shot through her body. Ignoring it, she continued her walk. She would find Ali, and when she did, she would tell him the truth. And… if he no longer wanted to see her, if the worst should happen and he banished her from Agrabah for her crimes… then she would live with that, because even if hated her, the fact that he was alive to hate her was all that she needed to know that all the pain, all the heartache, that everything she had endured had been worth it in the end.

* * *

Ali was drunk.

Sitting on the floor in a dark corner of the castle's wine cellar, he brought a bottle to his lips and gulped down the contents. Some of it ran down his chin and dribbled over his chest, staining his vest before soaking into his trousers, but he didn't care. Everything had seemed so perfect that morning. He was alive. Aquaria was well on the road to recovery, as was Agrabah, and according to Genie, the threat to his kingdom had been dealt with.

Then, just like that, the rug had been yanked out from under him, and as he'd fallen, he'd realized there was no floor. Instead, there was just an abyss, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't catch himself. A child… he'd had a child… and then he hadn't.

Not wanting to think about it, Ali tossed the empty wine bottle aside, letting it clink against the others, and he reached for another.

"I've been looking for you."

Ali groaned at the sound of his father's voice, glancing up to see the man walking into the cellar with a weary look on his face. What surprised him, however, was that there was no yelling or scolding coming from his father. The expression on his father's face was incredibly sympathetic, and he sighed. Lovely, so his parents knew as well.

"Not now, Dad," he said, raising a bottle to his lips.

"You won't even know I'm here," said Aladdin, coming to sit down beside him. Reaching out, he plucked the bottle out of Ali's hand and brought it to his own mouth, swallowing the last few mouthfuls. He frowned before setting aside the empty bottle. "I hate wine."

"Good," said Ali. "More for me."

As he reached for a bottle, his father took it out of his hand and set it aside. Well, that was not how it worked at all. You were meant to drink the bottle dry before discarding it, but he could forgive his father for not knowing. Apparently, he hated wine, so it made sense that he didn't know how to drink it.

Ali paused, scrunching up his features, and tried to think that one through. There was something wrong about his thought process, he figured, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Shrugging, he reached out for another bottle from the rack, only for his father to quickly claim that one as well, setting it down beside the other.

He sighed.

"Is there any chance I can fall asleep on the couch tonight, and when I magically wake up in my bed tomorrow morning, you'll have worked your dad magic and fixed everything?" he asked, reaching for another bottle.

His father gave him a sad smile before reaching out and plucking the bottle out of his hands. Setting the wine at his side, out of Ali's reach, he sighed.

"Dad magic?" he asked.

"You know, like the time I broke Mum's favourite vase and when I woke up it wasn't broken anymore and Mum didn't know," Ali slurred, reaching for the wine rack and pulling out another bottle. He frowned as his father took that from him as well, and reached for another, only to realize the rack was empty. "Dad," he whined, reaching out to try and grab the bottle back.

"You've had enough to drink," said Aladdin firmly, getting to his feet. Coming to stand next to Ali, he suddenly bent over and picked him, grunting slightly as he slung Ali over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "You're also a lot heavier than you were the last time I did this."

"Dad, put me down," Ali protested. "I don't want to go yet. The wine is here."

Aladdin ignored him as he walked up the stairs and out of the cellar. Closing the door behind him, he carried Ali through the castle, and though the rooms were a bit hazy, it didn't take Ali long to realize that they were heading for his room. His father was panting, and he felt a little bit guilty, but he also didn't quite understand why he was being carried. He wanted to go back to the nice room with the wine and beer, because his heart hurt, but the pain was duller than it had been when he'd started drinking, so obviously the wine was helping.

As they entered his bedroom, his father let out a relieved sigh upon dumping him in his bed. Ali stretched out, suddenly grateful for the comforting softness of his mattress and pillows, and rolled over.

"There," said Aladdin, perching on the edge of the bed. "Dad magic. Tomorrow morning you're going to wake up and wonder how you managed to get back to your room after draining that many bottles. Does it make you feel better?"

"No," Ali admitted, not looking at his father. "My stomach hurts."

"That's what happens when you mix wine, beer, and whatever else you found down there before I found you," said his father, breathing a weary sigh. "You're not six anymore, Ali. Your mother can't kiss the boo-boo and make it better, and I can't spend the entire night searching every store in the city to find a new vase that looks exactly the same as the one you broke. But, drinking isn't going to help either."

"But it hurts, Daddy," he whined. A sob tore through his body, and he bit his lip. He hadn't wanted to think about it. He didn't want to think about it. But it was there, all the same, lingering under the surface like some raging sea monster, just waiting for the first little disturbance to set it off. "I… I had a kid… and I didn't know, but, I still had one… and now it's gone, and how can I miss something I never knew I had in the first place?"

"'Ria traded our first child to save my life, and to save my kingdom, and I should be grateful. I should be on my knees thanking her. But I can't. I'm so conflicted. I feel betrayed and grateful and sad and happy to be alive, and I'm confused, and I want to drink the pain away, but you won't let me, and I want to just…" he trailed off, sobbing into his pillow, and he felt his father's hand on his shoulder, which only made him sob more.

"Did you know that before you were born, your mother was pregnant with what would have been your big sister?" asked his father. "Granted, it's not the same as your situation, but I know what you're feeling, Ali, for the most part."

"What did you do?" asked Ali, blinking. He'd had a sister? His parents had lost a child before having him? What did it change, though? Even through the liquor, Ali could see what his father was trying to say, but he was right. It wasn't the same. For them, their child had obviously been lost naturally. His had been cut from his lover's womb at her own request, and even if she had done it for all the right reasons… it didn't change the fact that at the back of his mind, he thought it had been the wrong decision.

Though… had it been his choice to make… would he have done the same? What killed him, most of all, was that he didn't know the answer to that question.

"Princess Sheriza," said his father, his tone taking on a wistful quality. "Born amongst Tsar Luna's stars. You never truly get over a loss, Ali, but you can move forward with time. But, is it not different for you, to an extent? How did you feel about Aquaria's decision before you knew what it was she gave up?"

"I was grateful beyond words," he slurred. "And then I wasn't. Sacrificing herself for me… I'd have done the same for her. But, it was our child, Dad. That changes everything."

Would the child have been a boy or a girl? Ali closed his eyes, trying to picture it. He saw a young boy, the spitting image of himself as a child, but with his mother's eyes. Then, the boy faded, replaced by a girl, with her mother's red hair and his mother's eyes, but she had his nose. The ache in his chest intensified, and he dispelled the thoughts.

"It does," replied his father, getting to his feet. "Now, let's get you into some clean clothes and let you sleep it off. You need some rest, and trust me when I say that you'll be able to heal better when you're sober."

Ali groaned as he heard his father digging around in his closet, and he whined even louder as he felt a pair of hands tug of his sodden vest and trousers. "I'm not a child," he grumbled, but when he tried to open his eyes, he found that his eyelids were too heavy, and when he tried to push his father away, he found that his limbs were uncooperative.

"Sleep it off, son," said Aladdin, tucking him into bed. "Things are always better in the mornings."

* * *

"We leave the castle for one night, and this is what we come back to," said Princess Anna, wringing her hands as she leaned into her chair. "Are you two sure that you're okay?"

"We're fine, Aunt Anna," said Nick, resting his elbow on the circular table and his face on his palm. "A little shaken, but fine."

Morgan suppressed the urge to sigh. Whilst he'd been happy that Nick's relatives had not been in the castle last night, having left to spend the night in a nearby inn on the outskirts of the city were Prince Consort Kristoff's rock troll relatives had met them to meet and bless Princess Morrigan, Princess Anna hadn't stopped fussing over them since she'd returned and been notified of the situation. It was wearisome, to be honest, especially considering that he was perfectly fine.

He'd showered off the blood and changed his clothes, and the maids had scrubbed Nick's room of all traces of the intruders. A new window had already been put in, and if he was to walk in now, there'd be nothing out of place. His own wounds had been tended, and although the ointments had stung like fire, he was healing quite nicely under his bandages. The iron burns on his throat should be fully healed by tonight, come to think of it, thanks to draconic healing, but the cut across his forehead would take a bit longer.

Still, all it would leave was another scar, and at this point, what was one more to add to his collection.

He was fine. He was completely and utterly fine. He was more worried about his mother than he was for himself, to be honest, because he was painfully aware of the fact that Damon De Vil had escaped after seeing him. And, Damon had obviously been aligned with Renata, who was currently being held in the dungeons of Arendelle, and that would drag Regina into the whole debacle… and his mother was currently, to his knowledge, a guest in Grimhilde Keep, acting as a spy for the council. If Damon returned and mentioned that Morgan was in Arendelle, and that he'd killed Dominique… he sighed. His mother would be fine. She always was, but the fear was still there all the same.

"Do we at least know how they got in?" asked Princess Anna, frowning. "Lady Yuë mentioned a magic mirror in her bedroom before the healers sedated her, but how did it even get there?"

"If you were to ask me," said Morgan, picking at his lunch. "I'd say it was put there during the council meeting. The castle was swarming with strangers, and not just the royals."

"They all brought their own guards and staff," added Nick, frowning. "And, even with all our guards on alert, it wouldn't have been difficult for someone to replace a mirror with a twin-mirror."

"We'll have to look into it," said Princess Anna, looking worried. "Elsa placed wards around the castle before she left to keep it safe, but we never expected them to bypass the outer defences. Still, the mirror has been shattered, and Bryn assures me that the rest of the castle is secure."

"Bryn assures you?" Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me any disrespect, Princess Anna, but your daughter is what? Ten? Surely there are people more accomplished in the magical arts who could properly check the castle." He worried at his lip as he spoke. There was no denying that he liked the little brat, annoying and mouthy as she was, but he still didn't consider worth much. At her age, he'd still had trouble not burning his tongue when he breathed his flames, and breathing fire was natural to a dragon.

He could only imagine how difficult the shamanic magic of the rock trolls was for a human ten-year-old to grasp.

"Don't let Bryn hear you saying you doubt her abilities, or you'll never hear the end of it," said Nick, a wan smile on his face. "She's a kid, but she's a prodigy."

"That she is," said Prince Kristoff. "Nick, I've doubled the guards around the castle and stationed two at your bedroom door at all times. I hope you don't mind, but given current circumstances, I think it's for the best."

"Thank you, Uncle Kristoff, but I'll not be staying in my room for a while." His smile was forced. "I don't want to talk about it."

Morgan reached out to squeeze his boyfriend's knee under the table in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Subtly, Nick nodded his thanks and took a deep breath, placing his hand over Morgan's. He was stiff, though, Morgan realized, but that was understandable. Last night had been utterly terrifying, and even though he'd scrubbed and scrubbed, he could still feel the blood on his hands. If even half of what was said about her was true, then she had definitely deserved to die, but she had still been a person… at some primal level.

She was not the first person he had killed. Over the years, the number had grown, but it had always been in self-defense. But, it still unsettled him. No matter how many times he took a life and told himself he had no other choice, there was always a faint thrill running down his body as he did so. He sighed. Like it or not, he was his mother's son, and while the apple had fallen far from the tree, he knew himself well enough to know that what he was capable of when angered.

"That's understandable," said Princess Anna. "I can have the maids make up one of the spare bedrooms."

"Actually, I'll be bunking with Morgan for the next few days," said Nick. "That's not a problem, is it?"

Morgan felt his cheeks heat up, and he didn't miss the quick look shared between Kristoff and Anna. Glancing down at the plate, he busied himself with his dinner. Nick could have least told him about the change in sleeping venues before surprising him like this, but more to the point, his boyfriend had just told people that they were sharing a bed. Sure, it was one of the worst-kept secrets in the castle, and there may be several more pressing issues to deal with, but a little heads up with have been nice.

"That's fine, Nick," said Prince Kristoff. "I'll have the guards stationed there instead."

"Thank you," said Nick, getting to his feet. His plate was still half-full. "I need an early night, so I'll see you two in the morning. Uncle Kristoff, if you could please deal with the prisoner. Aunt Anna, I received letters of appeal from the Duchess of Almera this morning, something about the sanctions Mum imposed on her trading partners. They're in my study."

"Nick," said Princess Anna, shaking her head. "Go to bed. I was helping your mother run this kingdom for years before you were born, and I daresay I'll be able to keep it together for a few days while you rest."

"A few days?" Nick raised an eyebrow. He tensed. "I just need some sleep. I'll be back to work tomorrow morning."

"Take a few days," said Prince Kristoff, his voice making it clear that he wouldn't allow himself to be swayed. "It's for the best."

"Fine," snapped Nick, and without another word, he stormed out the room.

Morgan looked around awkwardly before taking his leave, and he hurried after his boyfriend. Catching him just as Nick began to take the stairs, he grasped him by the wrist. As Nick whirled on him, Morgan was suddenly aware that they were surrounded by eyes and ears: guards patrolling the corridors and staff going about their duties. He swallowed, exchanging a quick look with Nick.

"Behind closed doors?" he asked. Nick nodded, but the anger that had flashed across his eyes in the dining hall was already fading, and Morgan didn't know how to react anymore. Silently, the pair of them made their way to his room, and as Morgan shut the door, Nick sealed it with a bolt of frost.

"I could have just locked it," said Morgan, gesturing towards the key.

"Lock it as well," said Nick, sighing as he sank into the nearest chair. "I don't want a repeat of last night."

"There won't be," said Morgan. Walking over to his boyfriend, he knelt beside the chair and took his hands in his. Meeting Nick's worried gaze, he continued, "We shattered the mirror. You said your cousin is certain there are no others in the castle. Renata is in the dungeons. It's going to be fine, Frosty."

"How can you be sure?" Nick asked.

"I've lived through worse," replied Morgan honestly. "The bad things happen, but when it's over, it's over. Reliving it only lets it keep you a prisoner of your own memories. I learned that a long time ago."

"How are you so calm and collected?" asked Nick in a soft voice. "I... you were there too."

"One of us has to be, and like I said, I've survived worse than Dominique De Vil," replied Morgan with a wan smile. "Honestly, I think it's nice that I get to be the one comforting you for a change. Now, unfrost the door so I can go grab some clothes for you from your room, take a shower while I'm gone, and when I'm back, we'll go to bed and things will seem better when we're both not exhausted."

"We're about the same size," said Nick. "Just lend me something of yours." His voice was soft and vulnerable as he leaned in, resting his forehead on Morgan's brow. "I don't want to be alone right now, Morgan."

"Fine, but shower while I look for something," said Morgan. "That's an order."

Nick nodded as he got to his feet and walked to the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind him. As the water started running, Morgan sighed before heading for his dresser. Most of his clothes and possessions were still in Somnia, but his mother had magicked up a full wardrobe before taking her leave. Still, his clothing situation was not what weighed on his mind.

It was clear that his boyfriend was taking the events of last night harder than he was. Somehow, despite the danger and the pain, Morgan himself was simply shaken. That had not been the worst situation he'd ever been in, not by a long shot, and in a way, he considered himself almost immune to them by this point in his life. Nick, though… Morgan wondered if this was the first time his boyfriend's life had been in danger. That would explain things, but he didn't know how to help him get over it. There was no magic that could erase fear, and while certain potions could help, they didn't heal the wound but instead, just stopped the bleeding.

To be honest, there was little else he could do but simply be there for Nick and try to cheer him up.

Ferreting though his drawers, Morgan finally found a pair of new shorts that he hadn't worn yet, but as he held them up, he noted that they were a bit too big for Nick. Smirking, he closed his eyes, letting a few wisps of magic escape his fingers. The shorts shrank in his grasp, and he threw in a little something extra, just for laughs.

At the very least, it might get Nick's mind off things.

Grabbing a pair of white socks for good measure, he knocked on the bathroom door before opening it just a crack and shoving the clothes into the room. The shower was still running as Morgan changed for bed and climbed under the blankets. Lying back in his pillows, he sighed, shifting to get comfortable. It wasn't easy to do, given he was still wrapped in thick bandages, and parts of his body were still thick and covered in rough scabs.

"Seriously?" Nick snorted, sticking his head out the door and glaring in his direction. "Morgan, I can't wear this."

"Oh, don't be a baby. It's the only thing I have that won't slide off your skinny waist," said Morgan, rolling his eyes. Propping himself up on his pillows, he chuckled as Nick walked out of the bathroom, grumbling under his breath about stupid boyfriends. Well, at least his mind was off things, thought Morgan. There, the plan was working. He chuckled again, feeling decidedly lighter to see some of the tension disappear from Nick's shoulders.

The fact that there was a purple dragon on the crotch of the black boxers he had given Nick, with two draconic pawprints on the back had nothing to do with his amusement… nope, it definitely did not.

* * *

"It's been a long time since we went to war," said Elsa, standing beside the figurehead of the _Queen Amphitrite_. It was the flagship of the Aquitanian fleet, the largest navy in the known world, and there were never six hundred ships in total. King Eric had not stinted on the war effort, committing almost the entirety of his might to the fight against the Hollow Ones. The king himself was absent, having opted to remain behind to see to the defences of both Atlantica and Aquitania, but Queen Ariel had come in his stead.

And, to be perfectly honest, Elsa would rather have the trident-wielding queen of the endless ocean at her side in the coming battles.

"Before now, there has never been a need," replied Ariel, her eyes fixed upon the red dragon circling overhead. Mushu had come as well, and since the fleet had left the shoreline, he had been their eyes in the sky. The Hollow Ones were still a mystery, and there was no telling what other creatures had been roused to fight at their side.

"Oloria was a mistake that we can never repeat," said Elsa. "Had we mobilized sooner when Rothbart first struck, the country may still be standing today."

"Or, had we rushed in like fools, we would all be as dead as King Siegfried," said Ariel, her eyes cold. "Maleficent says that they were a trial run, and yet, our victory was costly. Now, we face an army capable of smashing through the Imperial Army as though they were toy soldiers, and we do not have the numbers we had then."

Elsa fell silent. As usual, Ariel spoke the harsh truth and spared nothing. With the troubles in Agrabah, Sultanah Jasmine had been unable to lend her support to the war, robbing the council of a sizable fighting force. Somnia had answered the call, sending fifty ships laden with soldiers and provisions, but of Renvale there was no word. Similarly, Eléadoré had gone silent. Amoré and Corona had both withdrawn from the war effort, save for sending provisions—Queen Rapunzel's forces were to remain home to ensure Corona and Arendelle, kingdoms that were separated by a single sea, were protected; and King Adam's were forced into a similar role, safeguarding Agrabah, Amoré, and the easternmost isles of Aquitania. Even Ariel had not been able to commit her merfolk to the fight. She had brought a thousand with her, but the rest remained in Atlantica, for there were whispers in the murky depths that troubled the queen, and she was not comfortable leaving her kingdom unguarded.

Elsa clenched her fist. For all their talk, the council was not the united force it proclaimed to be. They were a dozen or so squabbling kingdoms, bound together out of a sense of mutual preservation rather than a genuine desire to protect their world, and in times like this, it showed. There was wisdom in not committing the entirety of their strength to a single war effort when their enemy still remained so mysterious… but that was the issue. The Hollow Ones were like locusts, and if they were not stopped in the Imperium, who knew how much of the land they would lay barren.

"It is not so bad," she said, finally breaking the silence. "Princess Sigrun has already reached the Imperium and linked up with remnants of the imperial army, if the messages we are receiving from Red Lotus Harbour are to be believed. Each of King Hiccup's dragon knights are worth more than a hundred common soldiers."

"I would rather Queen Merida have shown up as opposed to her daughter," said Ariel. "Sigrun is young, whilst her mother is a veteran of a dozen wars and conflicts. Before she married King Hiccup, their people spent nearly a decade killing each other."

"Well, not all love stories start as cleanly as the ones we had," said Elsa, thinking it best to change the topic before Ariel pointed out more unpleasant facts about the past. Her friend was not the warmest of people, although she had been at once point. The death of Melody Seastar, Ariel's eldest, had irrevocably changed Ariel into the queen she was today.

"Cleanly? Eric and I were inches away from death, and as for you and Jack, have you forgotten that Tsar Luna himself had to get involved?"

"Yes, but at our husbands did not try to kill us with a large axe while we trying to run them through with swords," Elsa pointed out, rolling her eyes. "Hiccup and Merida are a very different type of messy start."

"Well, you have me there." Ariel nodded, quirking an eyebrow. Glancing back out across the sea, she fell silent, and Elsa took a deep breath before doing the same. Conversation had been difficult these past few days, for they were both worried, Elsa knew. Even if Ariel didn't show it as much, they were heading into a warzone to fight an unseen enemy, and even the most stalwart of hearts would find room for concern.

They would reach the harbour by nightfall, and if all went according to plan, their forces would be able to retake the coastline within the next two weeks. They would then convene with Princess Sigrun's forces and head for the capital, and if all went well, the entire campaign would take around two months in total. Elsa nodded to herself. On a personal level, she would like nothing more than to be done with the campaign in time to return to Arendelle. Nick would be turning seventeen soon, and she had never missed his birthday, no matter where in the world her duties had taken her.

The acrid smell of smoke reached her nostrils, and she shook herself, dismissing all thoughts. Glancing at the horizon, she gasped—Red Lotus Harbor was a faint speck in the distance, but it glowed red, and plumes rose into the air. Without a word, she glanced at Ariel, and saw that her fellow queen had already taken in the situation. If Red Lotus Harbor fell before they could make landfall, then their war campaign would become much more difficult. They'd lack a base of operations, a defensible point in the mainland from which to launch their counterattack.

With a grim nod, Ariel jumped over the railing. As she fell, her legs fused together, her skirt rippling to form her scales. The trident of the seas in her hands, she tore through the waves, and as soon as she had a decent headstart, Elsa followed. Landing on the surface of the ocean, the water beneath her feet froze into an icy disk. Thrusting out an arm, it skidded across the sea like a boat, whipping up the surf, and she narrowed her eyes as she sped after Ariel.

Soon enough, the fleet was far behind her, and the wind was whipping at her hair. Red Lotus Harbour loomed over her, and she let out a deep breath of relief. The Hollow Ones were at the walls, but the city had not yet been breached, and though the fields around the city were burning, the imperial soldiers atop the walls still held firm.

Ariel burst from the sea, rising into the air whilst supported on a writhing vortex of saltwater. Her eyes blazing, she raised her trident into the air, and the sea answered her call. The waves rose to swallow the land, swirling around the harbour-city but not entering it, slamming into the Hollow Ones and trapping them in the swirling currents. Raising herself up on a spire of ice to keep above the raging sea, Elsa raised her hands into the sky. Frost flurried around her fingertips and, for a brief second, her eyes glowed icy-blue as she released her blizzard. The raging sea froze in an instant, encasing the Hollow Ones in an icy prison, and then she snapped her fingers. The ice shattered, as did all that was trapped within in, and she nodded at Ariel as the two of them made their way to the shore to await the arrival of their fleet.

* * *

"Chip, do you think I act without considering how it affects other people?" asked Alyssa, perching on the edge of the counter. The kitchens were empty save for her friend, who was currently basting a large bird of some sort, and looking rather put out to have his quiet evening disturbed.

"You do it all the time, why?" Chip didn't look up at her before turning up to a basin of potatoes. As he began to start peeling them, he tossed a potato peeler in her direction."You mind, by the way?"

Catching the peeler, she frowned. "Chip, I'm the princess not the royal vegetable peeler. What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Well, princess, the other two chefs are sick, the kitchen maids all skipped out since Lumiére isn't around, and I'm the only one here. So, if you want to talk, get peeling, because your father likes his dinner at seven, and it's already five."

Pursing her lips, she slid of the counter and headed over to the basin. Glancing at the potatoes, she lifted one up, testing its weight before running the peeler over the skin. It skid off, nearly nicking her finger, and she frowned, accepting the challenge. Despite there being a large amount of problems on her plate at present, she refused to be defeated by a potato. Picking up the peeler, she tried again.

"Just for the record, what do you mean I do it all the time?" she asked, her frown deepening.

"Princess Alyssa, you're a lovely girl and a good enough friend. I mean, how many princesses would be so friendly with the kitchen staff—"

"Mother says it's best to always be nice to the people who handle your food, so don't think you're getting special treatment," she teased.

He rolled his eyes. "As I was saying, you're a nice girl, but you're also very hot-headed and half the things you do tend to bite someone else in the ass. I mean, here's a perfect example. You insisted we talk, and I'm very busy, and you know that if I'm distracted, I'm not going to get dinner done on time, yet here you are all the same."

"My father isn't going to dock your pay if dinner is a few minutes late, Chip," she retorted, though she felt as though he'd just punched her in the face. The way he made it seem, she was the most thoughtless, selfish girl on the planet, which could not be further from the truth. The only reason she was here in the first place was because she needed a friendly ear, so why was he getting so bent out of shape about it? She needed a friend to comfort her, not to tell her that she was a terrible person. She was helping too, even if she didn't quite know what she was doing, but regardless, the potatoes were getting peeled.

"It's the principle of the matter, Princess Alyssa," he replied. "I mean, let's look at something more drastic. Did you pause to consider what it would mean for your kingdom before hopping into bed with Prince Cornelius?"

She spluttered. _How in the Godmother's scarlet knickers had he known about that?_ She'd been so careful in Arendelle to keep things secret, hiding away with Cornelius in all manner of alcoves and quiet rooms, and even when they had taken the next step in their relationship, they certainly hadn't flaunted it. She'd been back in her bedroom before midnight, and he'd promised her that every last rose petal and candle would be tossed into the fireplace where nobody would ever find it.

Unbidden, thoughts of Cornelius' death came to mind. She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. It was a surprising turn of events, to be honest, but considering everything else, it wasn't that big a deal in her opinion. He, on the other hand, had freaked out, though Alyssa wasn't quite sure why. When the council had met in Arendelle, Alyssa could have thrown a stone and hit at least five people who'd also died and returned; Princess Anna's heart had frozen solid, King Eugene had been resurrected by Queen Rapunzel, Queen Snow had choked on a poisoned apple and spent a few weeks in an actual coffin before King Charming had given her the kiss of life, and even her own father, King Adam, had died for a few minutes before her mother had broken the curse.

Really, being dead and returning was something akin to a rite of passage for most royal romances these days, and in her mind, Cornelius should be grateful they'd gotten theirs out of the way already. It spared them any future dramatics.

But, that wasn't the issue. Pushing thoughts of her undead husband out of her mind, she focused instead on the revelation that Chip somehow knew she had slept with Cornelius.

Someone must have ratted her out. It couldn't have been Nick… could it? No, her friend would never do such a thing. Her mind turned to the only other person in Arendelle who'd known about her marriage. She snorted. Why in the world had she ever trusted Morgan Thorn? She'd just met the man, and yet she'd trusted him with some—no, it couldn't be Morgan. He was rough around the edges, but her senses had told her that he was a good person.

But if it hadn't been Nick and it hadn't been Morgan, who had it been? And, how had the gossip reached all the way to her own castle's kitchens?

"Relax," Chip said. "All I'll say is that the next time you decide to have a nightly pow-wow with Prince Christopher in the rose gardens, you look around to make sure you're alone. I was out there minding my own business with a bit of wine and some tobacco for my pipe, and then I hear the two of you having a screaming match and disturbing the peace."

"Oh, Godmother," she said, wanting to kick herself. "How many other people know?"

"Well, I'd taken a bit of a shine to one of the guards, so he was with me," said Chip with a shrug. "And Julian likes to tend the roses at night, so he was likely somewhere in the garden. Not to mention that I heard one of the maids gossiping about it this morning over breakfast. Really, you royals are all the same. You forget so easily how many eyes and ears are around you all the time."

"Oh, Godmother," she groaned. If the staff knew, then so did Lumiére, and if he knew, then so did her father. Or, and if Tsar Luna was good and kind, word had not yet reached the very top of the gossip pyramid, which meant she had to act fast. The news of her marriage had to come from her and nobody else, or there really would be no talking her father around.

"Chip," she added, "It's been wonderful talking to you, but I really need to go." She needed to find Lumiére and get him to hold his tongue, if only for a bit, and she'd tell her parents over dinner. It was past time, and unless she acted tonight, there'd be a minor diplomatic firestorm between Corona and Amoré that neither kingdom could currently afford. Taking off out the kitchen door, she heard him yell after her.

"See what I mean about not bothering about other people? Who's going to finish peeling the bloody potatoes now?"

* * *

" _I love you, but I think we need some time apart."_

The words hung heavy on Aquaria's mind, even though they'd been said the previous night. Her heart ached more than her still-healing wounds, but she could not fault Ali for his decision. He had every right to blame her for what had happened, because at the end of the day, she blamed herself. Things had not gone the way she had intended, and her sacrificed had left scars on more than her body. They had left marks upon her soul.

And, considering Ali's reaction, he had hurt just as badly.

"Princess Aquaria, we're ready to leave," said the coachmen. "When you're ready."

She paused, glancing behind her. The palace of Agrabah was beautiful and, over the past few weeks, she had come to consider the place a second home. Well, a third home, if one was to consider that she already had Atlantica and Aquitania. Still, when she looked at the cream walls, golden domes, and vibrantly coloured curtains and tapestries, all she could she was the home she'd expected to spend the rest of her life in.

And, every bit of it reminded her of Ali, the man she'd been prepared to spend the rest of her life with. Of all the princes she had ever met, he was the wildest and most untamed of all, almost like the sea in that respect. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and however he wanted; he'd rush across the rooftops of Agrabah and go swimming in the canals, not caring that he was a prince and not a pauper. Protocol and proprietary meant nothing to him, and over the years they'd known each other, she'd grown to love him.

He would kiss her no matter who was watching, and he'd dance with her until her feet hurt. When he'd visited Aquitania, they'd gone swimming until he'd started to cramp, and then she'd let him hold on to her tail as she got them both to shore. In the end, it had always been the two of them: Aquaria and Ali, the Desert Fox of Agrabah and the Daughter of the Sea… and, she really didn't know who she was without him.

"Get a hold of yourself," she said under her breath. "He's not dead."

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she walked towards the carriage. Pulled by camels, the vehicle had a sled rather than wheels, and it would carry her to the coast where another carriage was waiting, this one pulled by hippocampi and made from coral. It would be a short journey, and being underwater again would definitely speed her healing.

"'Ria, wait."

She froze, taking a deep breath. Turning, she saw Ali running across the courtyard. Before she could open her mouth to say anything, he'd all but slammed into her, forcing a grunt of pain to escape her lips and nearly bowling her over. Clutching him for support, she coughed.

"Ali, still injured."

"Right, right, I'm sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair. Fixing her with a wan smile, he sighed. "Look, before you leave, there's something I need to say."

Her heart sank. For a moment, she had thought that he wanted her to stay, that he had been rushing up to tell her that she didn't need to leave, that they could work things out together like they always had. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she forced a smile to herself. She had to remain strong.

"Aquaria, I love you," he said, "More than I've ever loved anyone else. But… I need time to think and, I guess the best word is recover? So, I've decided to leave Agrabah for a while. A change of scenery might do be good. My parents are iffy about it, but they can't stop me."

"Where are you going?" she asked, confused.

"Corona," said Ali. "It's been a while since I've seen Cornelius, and I reckon it would be nice to see a friendly face that isn't Rajah for a bit. And, well, King Adam hates me so Amoré is out of the question, it's far too cold in Arendelle, and Sigrun is leading her father's forces in the Imperium, so there'll be nothing to do in DunBroch. So, Corona it is. What I wanted to say is that if you need me, for anything, that's where I'll be for the next week or so."

She paused, nodding and understanding his decision. Slipping off her necklace, she handed it to him. It was a fine gold chain with a single rose-pink pearl hanging from the pendant, and as she pressed it into his hands, she forced the tears out of her eyes.

"If ever you need me, no matter where you are in the world, simply crush that pearl and I will come," she said. Her throat grew constricted, and she leaned in to press her lips to his cheek. "Goodbye, Ali."

Not waiting for him to reply, she climbed into her carriage and shut the door behind her. Sinking into the plush seats, she drew the curtains and tapped the front panel, a signal to the coachman to begin the journey. Only as the carriage began to move, however, did she allow herself to cry.


	17. A Tale as Old as Time

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 **A Tale as Old as Time**

* * *

Dinner was a stern affair, so different from the family dinners Alyssa was accustomed to. There had been a frosty atmosphere between her parents since Arendelle, and her relationship with her father had been strained for years. Her mother, ever the peacekeeper, seemed to have finally reached the end of her tether, and in between mouthfuls of bouillabaisse, she kept shooting stony glares at her husband. Alyssa sighed. They'd been arguing again, no doubt, and the cause of the argument had most likely been her.

Even having Prince Christopher at the table did little to alleviate the tension in the air. If anything, it made things worse. The prince had maintained a grim air of silence towards her since their talk—well, talk was putting things mildly—in the rose gardens that night, and other than a muttered, _bite me,_ when she'd asked him to pass the salt, he hadn't said a word to her since.

Not that she could blame him. In a way, she did understand why he was angry with her, but at the same time, Christopher had to look at things from her point of view. She loved Cornelius, and if she hadn't married him when she had… honestly, Christopher had already been in Amoré when she'd gotten home. Granted, he'd been essentially kidnapped, but that didn't make things any better. Lumiére was already planning their wedding if Cogsworth was to be believed, and her father had only mentioned the betrothal to her once.

She hadn't even given her consent.

Her father cleared his throat, rousing her from her thoughts. Forcing a smile to her face, she looked at him and set down her cutlery. He looked rather cross, which did not bode well for her upcoming confession. Her parents didn't know yet, thank the Godmother, but Lumiére had sworn to give her only one night before he shared the rumours with her father. Her throat grew tight; he would not react well.

Queen Rapunzel and King Eugene may always have preferred to prioritise their son's happiness, but while her mother did the same, her father had always wished for her to put her duty before her own desires. And, though she had accepted her role as princess and future queen, she was not willing to be miserable to do so. He wanted her to be the fairest rose in all Amoré, the perfect queen… but he had never embraced her thorns.

"A disturbing rumour has reached my ears," said her father, his expression still and impassive as he spoke. "I very much wish to get to the bottom of it."

"Adam, not now," hissed her mother, but he simply waved a dismissive hand in her direction.

A chill ran down Alyssa's spine… _He knew_. She should never have waited so long. Still, her marriage was bound and consummated, and not even a king's verdict could force an annulment now. Her crown was secure; she was the last of her line, and there were no other heirs, not unless her father intended to trace the family tree some dozen or so generations in search of a distant relative, so it was not as though he could force her from the line of succession. No, let him be mad, she decided, her anxiousness fading as quickly as it came. She held all the cards, and he held none but his own disapproval… and she had long since grown accustomed to the fact that she disappointed him in almost everything she did.

"Perhaps I should leave," said Prince Christopher, removing the napkin from his lap and making to rise from his chair.

"No, I would rather you stay," said her father. "After all, the two of you are to be married, and you no doubt want to know the truth of the matter before your nuptials."

"There will not be a wedding," snapped Alyssa, slamming her hand against the table. "You can prattle on about it as much as you want, but I will never marry a man that I do not love."

"You should be thanking Prince Christopher for remaining here despite your indiscretions," retorted her father. "Most other princes would have already set sail for their home countries at the slightest hint that their bride-to-be had lost her virtue to a man she had not yet wed. Yes, my dear, I have heard all about your little dalliance with Prince Cornelius, and I must say, I expected more from you."

"What your father is trying to say," said her mother, reaching across the table to grasp her hand. "Is that your reputation is very important if you wish to hold the respect of the nobility. Your farewell kiss with Prince Cornelius reflects poorly on you, as do the rumours circulating amongst the guards who accompanied us to Arendelle. Apparently, there were many secret rendezvous between the two of you, and that kiss was not the firs—"

"Mother, honestly, I don—"

"Alyssa, don't interrupt me when I'm speaking," said her mother, raising her voice by just a fraction. Without a word, Alyssa fell silent. She could argue with her father until the rafters shook from their raised voices, but her mother was another story altogether.

"As I was saying," continued Belle, "I am against this betrothal, no offence, Prince Christopher, and I do like Prince Cornelius, but you need to consider that, if you wish to court him, you cannot do it in the shadows."

"She cannot do it at all," interjected Adam. "Prince Christopher is a fantastic young man with an impeccable lineage, and the wealth and trade the marriage will bring to both kingdoms will usher in an era of prosperity for Amoré and Renvale both."

"My mother was born to a king and a seamstress, and Regina's mother destroyed her kingdom when my mother was still five. She grew up in the woods, living in a cottage with seven dwarves, and then Regina cursed her, and I'm sure we all know the rest." Christopher raised an eyebrow, and despite everything, Alyssa could have leapt across the table and kissed him for speaking up when he did. "On my father's side, my grandmother was from Corona, and she wasn't a noble or a royal. The only way she caught my grandfather's eye was that she was a witch-hunter who baked a witch in her own oven when she was six, with the help of her little brother, of course. My lineage is colourful, but it really isn't as purebred as say, the Rêveres, for instance."

"We are getting off topic," said King Adam, and the vein was throbbing in his temple. Glaring at the table, he rose from his chair and spoke through gritted teeth. "The point is that you are marrying Prince Christopher, your dalliance with Prince Cornelius is to be forgotten, and—"

"My _dalliance_ with Prince Cornelius, as you so eloquently put it, involved me jumping his bones every chance I got, and I will not be marrying Prince Christopher, because I am already wedded, bedded, and bound," she snapped, her temper flaring. The shadow of the beast gleamed in her eyes as she rose to her feet, and the wineglass in her hand shattered. Not feeling the shards of glass digging into her palm, she rounded on her father. "It was a beautiful ceremony. Nicholas officiated, as he is well within his rights to as a crown prince, and Morgan bound my marital contract, as is well within his power as a magic user. So, Father, do tell me what I am meant to do, because as Tsar Luna is my witness, I will not let you dictate my life."

The room was eerily silent. Her mother looked as though she'd just been slapped, and Prince Christopher had raised an amused eyebrow. Her father, however, was glaring at her, his eyes narrowed to slits. The vein in his temple looked ready to burst, and his ears and cheeks were flushed red with rage. Then, he slammed his fist onto the table, sending the crockery flying, and with a sharp crack, the antique dining table snapped like a twig.

"If this is a jest, Alyssa, then it is not a funny one, I assure you."

"The only joke in my life is you, Father."

"Get out," he roared. "Go to your room before I say something that I may one day regret."

"I see no reason why I should," she shrieked. "What exactly is it that you want from me, Father? To marry a man I don't love just because the man I do love happens to have a father who just so happens to be lowborn? To live a loveless, miserable life just so that I die with the knowledge that the heartless bastard I call a father was proud of me? You're nothing more than a hypocrite. Is Mother a noble? Does she have royal blood? Or did you marry her for love?"

"Alyssa, sweetheart, don't push this," said her mother, also rising to her feet now. "Adam, calm down. I think what we all need is some time to cool our heads, and then we can discuss this later, when the two of you aren't frenzied with anger."

"Oh, no, we're doing this now," snapped Alyssa. "I am sick and tired of living like this. I befriend the servants, and I'm not to talk to them when we have dignitaries over, because it's not how royals should behave. I want to learn fencing and I have to plead for years before being allowed to learn how to defend myself. I want to have friends from the village visit me in the castle, but I can't because I need to be seen as someone _above them_. I want to accompany you to Agrabah to see Ali whilst you discuss trade deals and the like with his parents, but I can't because his father is a _street-rat_ and you think he's a bad influence. I want to love who I fell in love with, and I can't, because for some reason, you think he isn't good enough for me."

Her father's anger was palpable, but each one of her statements seemed to be hitting him like a brick, and she was happy to see the wind being taken out of him. It was a sickening feeling, the joy she got from hurting him, but his words had stung even worse, as had his actions, and it was past time that they did this. She was tired of dancing around the issue, or pretending everything was fine.

"Yet, you married a girl from the village. You befriended the servants. You learned to fight when you were young. You did everything you wanted, and you know what, it sickens me to see you act so holier-than-thou, because that's what brought the beast curse down on this family in the first place."

"If you're so sick of it, you know where the door is," said her father, and just like that, the wind went out of her. His voice was deathly calm, a surefire sign that she had crossed the line and pushed him further than just anger. "You are a child, Alyssa, and you seem to have taken it into your head that I am the enemy. The choices laid before you are all for your own good: a good husband, one who would be good for your country; a good reputation, to ensure that the nobility respects you when you take the throne; and so much more. Yet, you have spat on it. Fine. Very well. Leave. Go to Corona and don't come back. Perhaps you will be happier there since you are so very miserable here."

"Adam, no, you don't mean that," said her mother. "Alyssa, apologise to your father and _go to your room_."

"No," said Alyssa, shaking her head. Closing her eyes, she reached for her diadem and lifted it off her brow. She glanced at it, the world seeming to slow around her as she gazed upon the rose motif, feeling the weight between her fingers. Was this what she had to give up to ensure her happiness? All good things came with a price, she knew, but did her father mean what he said?

His way or her way, that was the choice he'd offered her, but only one of those roads would lead to her happiness. She closed her eyes, feeling tears sting at the corners because she had not expected it to come to this. Anger, arguments, a week or so of hostility and silence… but banishment?

Fine. So be it.

Flinging the diadem at her father's feet so hard that the rubies shattered like glass and the metal snapped in half, she stormed out of the room.

* * *

"How dare you?" asked Belle, not turning to look at her husband. Her eyes were red from crying and her cheeks were blotched with anger, and she had just returned to her bedroom after rushing after her daughter, only to have the door slammed in her face. She had pleaded for Alyssa to let her in, but the door had remained locked all the same. Finally, after an hour of trying, she had given up.

When she returned to her bedroom, the first thing she had seen was her husband hunched over his desk with a half-empty decanter of whisky at his side, and his hands balled into fists. He was angry, but so was she. However, her yelling at him would accomplish nothing, though it would certainly make her feel better. No, she had to remain calm, even as her fury threatened to burn her alive.

"How dare you?" she repeated when he did not respond. "Godmother above, Adam, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that it would be enough to snap her out of whatever madness had possessed her," he replied. "I had hoped that pointing out how much she stood to lose if she continued down this path would be enough to make her reassess her choices."

"Adam," she sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and burying her face in her arms. "In the space of an hour, I learned that my own daughter didn't trust her parents enough to tell us she had gotten married. She eloped in secret to keep you from forcing her down a path she didn't want to take. And yet, after you learned that, instead of trying to realize how badly damaged this family has become that she'd act in such a manner, you tell her to either leave Amoré forever or accept your demands."

"The marriage cannot hold up." His voice was cold. "An elopement officiated by a foreign prince and bound by the son of Maleficent… it can be overturned."

"No, it cannot, and you will not attempt to annul it either," she replied. "You heard her. The marriage has been consummated, Adam. What if she is with child? Will you tear that from her womb and shove her down the aisle just to sate your own desires?"

"That is being unfair to me, Belle." He shuddered. "Why are you even supporting her in this? She eloped with a man I do not approve of, and she behaved in a manner that is very unbecoming of a princess."

"I stand with her because she is my child, Adam. I may not approve of all her choices and actions, but I accept them, and I do not believe that what she did was wrong. If anything, I am somewhat glad she married in secret, if only so that you can't drag the poor Charming boy into your schemes. If I learn you had even a finger in how he was treated on his way here, Adam, there will be a reckoning indeed."

"That was his mother's doing, and I was as horrified as you were," retorted Adam.

"Strange," she snapped. "You're horrified at how Queen Snow treated her son, practically forcing him down the aisle to marry Alyssa, and you don't even realize how you're doing the very same thing to our daughter."

"Our treasury is empty, Belle." He snorted. "Amoré has no mines save for iron and coal, and in recent years, both have begun to run dry. The last three harvests have been bad, and our wine imports have suffered. I can't raise the taxes when the people are struggling to keep food on their tables. And, then there's the war in the Imperium, and the mass of supplies that I committed to the fight there. Alyssa marrying Prince Christopher would have created new trade routes, and the dowry alone would keep this kingdom afloat until the next harvest."

"Our daughter is not a sack of potatoes to barter with," she snapped, anger flaring. She had known the situation was bad, but even she knew that Adam was exaggerating. The kingdom was not on the verge of bankruptcy, and though wine was their largest source of trade, their land was fertile and and well-tended. Their coasts were plentiful, and their livestock was abundant.

"And," she added, "Corona has more gold mines than can be exhausted in a dozen lifetimes. Their capital is a major thoroughfare for trade. Don't use excuses, Adam. I will give you one chance and one chance only. What is it about Cornelius Fitzherbert that has you ready to banish our only daughter, an act that will cause a bloodbath amongst our nobles once they hear you have no heir?"

Pausing, she bit her lip. No doubt he would spew the same tired lines at her, that Cornelius was the son of a thief and that he behaved like a commoner. There would be talk of the nobles not accepting him, and the list went on and on, not that she ever believed a word of it. No, whatever issues Adam had with Cornelius… she frowned. Her daughter had raised an interesting point. Adam did have issues with Cornelius… and Prince Ali… and he even turned his nose up at Prince Caspian and Princess Aquaria, just for not being fully human. Despite acknowledging that he wouldn't mind Prince Nicholas as a potential son-in-law, he'd been incredibly short with the lad until Queen Elsa had explained the nature of her marriage and clarified that her son was not, in fact, a bastard born out of wedlock.

No matter who it was, if their story wasn't perfect, Adam held them in disdain. He wanted the fairytale, but just as she had always known in her heart, he had never really grown out of his spoilt nature. He was a good man, and his intentions were good… but his flaws had always been there, and whilst she loved him, beast and man, she was not prepared to lose her daughter just to satisfy his ego.

Realizing that he hadn't replied to her question, she pursed her lips.

"What you want is perfection," she said, getting to her feet. "You want the perfect princess as a daughter and the perfect prince as a son-in-law. You don't like it when people talk down about this family. You never have. Godmother knows that you threw enough tantrums when we first married and the nobles hadn't yet accepted me. You, Adam, want the roses but not the thorns, but listen to me when I say that I will not let that stand. So, just as you offered our daughter an ultimatum, I am offering you one now."

"And that is?" asked Adam, his voice terse and angry, but she knew that he could tell how very serious she was being.

"You will go to our daughter's room and you will apologise. You will tell her than you meant none of what you said, and you will bless her marriage and wish her all the happiness in the world. You will accept Prince Cornelius as her husband, and you will formally acknowledge him as he Prince Consort of Amoré."

"And, if I don't?" he asked, leaving the implied unsaid. All the same, she could hear it through the silence. _You ask too much, Belle, I am the king, and my decision is final!_

"Then I will leave you," she replied, even as she felt her heart break at the words. "I will remove the crown from my head and the ring from my finger, and I will return to my father's cottage. Perhaps he and I will follow Alyssa to Corona, so as to be nearer to her. I love you, Adam, more than my own life, but I love my daughter more, and if you do this, if you hurt her in this way, then I will stand at her side, even if that makes you my enemy."

"Belle, you don't mean that." The glass in her husband's hand cracked, and he turned to stare at her. For the first time that day, there was a flicker of something other than anger and irritation in his eyes: fear.

"Au contraire, la bête," she replied, rising to her feet and making for the door. "I have never been more serious in my life."

* * *

 _Fuck it all._

"Lumiére, have my things sent to Corona," she snapped, not bothering to look at the old butler as she stormed past him. He replied, but she didn't hear him.

She had taken her jewellery and whatever gold she had in her room, and she had packed a few changes of clothes into her backpack to last the journey to Corona. Her father had made himself very clear, and she would not remain in Amoré for a single hour longer than was necessary.

Perhaps she was being ridiculous and it would be better to sleep on things before speaking to her father in the morning, but… they said the things said in anger were always true, and her father had been furious during dinner. If that was how he truly felt, then so be it. She would not let herself be bullied into whatever role he wanted her to play. She would leave Amoré on the first ship bound for Corona, and if there was no ship, then she would simply charter one. There was more than enough gold in her bag to do so.

Besides, even if she was skint broke and most likely banished, she was still the Princess of Amoré, and most captains would sell their kidneys in order to earn her favour. Her house no longer felt like home, and she would see that whoever delivered her from it would be richly rewarded in time, if not by her, then by Cornelius.

Despite her fury, she could not deny the ache she felt in her heart as she stormed through her castle for what may well be the very last time. This was her home, try as she might to deny it to herself now, and she had lived here since she was born. The servants were her friends, from Chip Potts to crotchety old Cogsworth, and more importantly, her mother was here. And… her father. She clenched her fist, blinking tears out of her eyes.

Their relationship may have grown strained in recent years, but she still remembered being a little girl and riding on his shoulders, clutching at his hair to keep from falling off… even though she'd known he'd never let her fall in the first place. There had been a great many arguments and fights between the two of them, and more hurt feelings than she could count… but there had been good memories as well.

Still, he had said his peace on the matter, and she would not stop now.

As she reached the entrance hall, the guards crossed their halberds, barring the doors. She tensed, glancing around her.

"Stand aside," she snapped, but they remained silent, not quite looking at her. "Perhaps I was not clear. Move or you will be moved."

"I am sorry, Princess Alyssa," said the guard on the left. "But your father has sent orders that you are not to leave the castle."

She started, her anger blazing. What, did he want to keep her prisoner now as well? Well, two could play at that game. Lashing out, she grasped the halberd from the first guard and yanked, dragging him off his feet. The shadow of the beast flickering in her gaze, she tossed the man aside, weapon and all, before turning to his comrade. Without a word of warning, she punched him in the gut, and as he doubled over, she wrenched open the door.

And, she paused. Standing on her doorstep was a young woman, dressed in rags, with a raven perched on her shoulder. The woman was dirty, barefoot, and thin as a rake, and clutching a single wilted rose.

"My dear," she said. "It is a cold night, and I have no place to go. May I beg sanctuary for the just one night…" The woman reached out, holding out the rose. "Here, I can give you this."

Alyssa snorted. She didn't have time for this. Shoving the woman out of the way, she hurried down the smooth paving stones of the castle's front lawn. Behind her, the woman stumbled and fell, a sickening grin on her face, and all of a sudden, Alyssa felt something, almost like a flame, ignite within her gut.

She fell to her knees, her breath catching in her throat as she felt her bones begin to elongate within her limbs. _No_ , she thought, the fire within her spreading until it felt like an inferno. _No_ , _it isn't the full moon_. She screamed, clutching at her face as she felt her jaw begin to stretch, but as her fingers touched her cheeks, she realized that her hands were becoming paws, and her nails were already claws.

Throwing back her head, she heard guards running to her side and screams from within the castle, and her own screams of pain became howls as the transformation ripped through her.

"Oh, you poor dear," said the woman, coming to stand beside her. "What can I say? Like father, like daughter. You people really should learn to grant a witch hospitality when she requests it."

Before Alyssa could react, the woman was gone in a storm of black feathers, and then, something in her snapped. Growling, she staggered to her feet, loping forward on all fours, her claws clicking against the paving stones. Her vision was tinged red, and her anger was almost feral as she caught sight of the first human.

He was doubled over, his skin looking wooden, and he was yelling and clutching at himself. The ground was shaking, and the sun had disappeared behind the clouds, turning the world dark as twilight. A vine burst out of the ground, covered in thick thorns, ripping through the small pavilion and wrapping around it like a serpent. More vines appeared, and the screams grew louder, drowning out the sounds of cracking stone and shattering glass.

Alyssa curled back her lips, her teeth exposed as she lunged for the half-wooden man. He barely moved until he realized she was upon him, and then he was scrabbling across the ground, terror in his eyes. His movements were stiff, and her fangs closed around his throat in seconds, ripping it out in a spray of blood. Good, she thought. Easy prey.

* * *

"So, the fact of the matter is that dinner was quite a colourful affair," said Christopher, feeling a lot lighter despite the horrendous dinner he'd just sat through. If anything, it had made him feel like he was at home. There had been quite a few similar fights between his parents in Renvale, and to be honest, they'd been the only time he and his sister had really been on the same side... when they'd both wanted to get out of the room as soon as possible. "And, the good news is that I don't have to marry Alyssa."

"Yes, the maids are chatty creatures, and the whole castle already knows," replied Chip, setting down the tray on the side table. "For Mister Pooh, a jar of strawberry honey, a tray of honey-mint crackers, and a cup of tea with honey."

"Why thank you, Mister Potts," replied Pooh, looking up in delight. "Honey is my favourite."

Christopher smiled, reaching out to ruffle his bear's head. If anything, he was feeling better than he had, and not because of Alyssa's misfortunes or the unlikely reminder of home. Misery did love company, and… who was he kidding, he was just happy that the marriage was completely and utterly off the table. A bound marriage could not be undone, and besides, seeing Alyssa stand up to her somewhat terrifying father like that had helped him realize that he did not need to be the miserable Prince of Fools.

He had lost a lot, but he could still gain a lot. He could return home and toss his crown in a similar manner, and that would be that. He _could_ choose to be happy if he wanted. Sure, he had still lost a lot… and he'd likely drank a bit too much wine at dinner in order to get through it.

It was very likely that, come morning, he'd be back in his rut, but for now, he was allowed to just be tipsy and happy.

"You're very good with him," said Christopher.

"What can I say?" replied Chip. "I'm rather fond of the little—" He trailed off, glancing at his hands in horror. They were paling quickly, almost white, and when he touched them together, Christopher heard the familiar clink of porcelain. "No, no, no," Chip said, eyes growing wide. "No, no, no, not again."

"What's going on?" asked Christopher, and just as he spoke, the floor lurched underneath him. Caught by surprise, he hit the ground as the bookshelf tipped over, and it was all he could do to roll out of the way before it flattened him. Hastily, he grabbed Pooh and tucked the protesting bear under his arm before looking around for Chip.

"Chip?" he called, seeing nothing.

"Down here," said a small, tinny voice, and Christopher started as he glanced at the carpet. Chip's clothes lay there in a pile, and there was a porcelain teacup lying on the rug with a small chip on the rim lying beside them. Looking closer, Christopher nearly fainted at the sight of the small face on the side, just beside the handle.

"You're a cup," said Christopher, kneeling down to pick up the teacup. "How are you a cup?"

"If I knew, do you think I'd be a cup," snapped Chip. His tiny eyes darted around the room, and he groaned. "Oh Godmother, I can't fucking believe I'm a bloody cup again."

"Again?" asked Christopher, and just as he did so, the castle gave another lurch. Panic had been bubbling under the surface, but as the first screams reached his ears, it erupted in full force. Rushing for the window, he balked, flinging himself to the ground just in time to avoid the massive vine. It smashed through his window and tore through the ceiling as if the stone was paper, and Christopher shuddered as he darted across the room, as far away from the window as he could.

"You need to find Queen Belle," said Chip. "Hurry, she'll know what to do."

"I'm not going out there," yelped Christopher as, through the hole in the wall, he saw more vines wrapping themselves around the castle, spearing through the walls. People were screaming, and he saw a woman fall from a tower as a vine ripped through the floor. As she fell, she turned into a bowl, only to shatter upon the ground.

"Oh, grow a pair," said Chip. "I've been turned into a bloody cup and I probably still have more balls than you. Let's go."

"Christopher, I'm rather scared, truth be told, and I think it would be best to hide," said Pooh.

A monstrous roar tore through the castle, and Christopher nearly wet himself at the sound. Eyes wide, he glanced down at Chip, only to see that the cup was shivering in his hand. A second roar sounded, louder and closer, and all of a sudden, Christopher decided that he definitely was not going to be leaving the room anytime soon. Whatever was out there… other than his Dreamtouch, he had no way of defending himself, and even if he had a weapon, he had never quite grasped the art of combat during his training.

And, with only a teddy bear and a teacup as backup, he really wasn't prepared to face what sounded like a feral beast. He froze. _Oh… bloody hell._

"Is that King Adam?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Why, yes it is," replied Chip, though his voice was so high that Christopher could barely hear it. "On second thoughts, it may be best to go out the window."

"Are you insane?"

The third roar sounded as if King Adam was right outside his door, and he heard a sharp, high-pitched scream, which sounded like it came from a woman. Then, there was a wet squelch and sharp crack, and the scream went silent, only to be replaced with what sounded like a dog digging into a meal.

"Window it is," said Christopher, stuffing Chip into his jacket pocket. Placing Pooh into his hood and telling the bear to hold on to his hair, Christopher grabbed onto the vine and started climbing a second before his bedroom door flew across the room in a shower of splinters.

* * *

"Oh, Lumiére," Belle murmured, kneeling down beside the shattered remains of the candlestick. Lightly, she fingered the remnants, feeling a tear trickle down her cheek. Then, as another roar tore through the castle, she got to her feet, clutching her rose to her chest. It glowed, the magic ebbing around her, staving off the effects of the curse.

The Chronorose was amongst her greatest treasures, and whilst its magic had limits, it would suffice to protect her for the moment. There were still a few petals left. She still had time. Time could only be frozen for so long, and even if she kept the effects close to her, shielding her from the transformation, the few remaining petals were already beginning to wilt.

Carefully, she walked through the ruined castle, trying not to take in the tattered remains of clothes or the broken objects littering the floor. Adam had been by this way, she knew, but she had no idea how far ahead of her he was. In his beastly form, he was faster and stronger than she could ever be, but… she had dealt with the beast before.

This… this was not her husband. The beast he had become was a monster, feral and ruthless, and when the transformation had taken him, she had been forced to flee for her sanctum. It had been as if he had not even recognized her, seeing her as nothing more than prey. She shuddered. If Cogsworth had not gotten in the way, throwing himself between the beast and herself, she would never have made it to the sanctum in time to retrieve her rose.

Another petal fell, and she winced, feeling the magic flutter around her, growing slightly dimmer as it did so. There were very few petals left, and if she did not find Adam soon, the curse would last forever. Finding him was her only hope. True love's kiss was the only thing she had left in her arsenal, and despite all the cracks that had formed in their relationship over the years, she still loved him with all her heart.

There were moments when she did not quite like him… but her love had never wavered.

"At least Alyssa isn't here," she whispered to herself, for the first time grateful that her daughter had been seen fleeing the castle just moments before the curse had taken hold. How it had taken hold and why both escaped her, but she thanked the Godmother for small mercies. If Tsar Luna was truly good, Alyssa would even now be on a ship bound for Corona with no knowledge of the catastrophe that had befallen her home… and, that would mean she was safe.

The petals fluttered, reminding her of how little time remained to her, and she dismissed all other thoughts from her mind. There was no time for worry. Once again, it was up to her to save Amoré, to save her husband, to save them all.

"Adam," she called, her voice echoing through the silent halls. Thorny vines filled the place, ripping through the walls and floors, and she shuddered. There was something unclean about the vines, something dark and terrifying, and she dared not even touch one.

"Adam," she repeated, and a low growl responded. "Adam, I'm here."

The beast sprang around the corner, slobber and blood dripping from its mouth. Dressed in the tattered remains of Adam's suit, it growled, sizing her up, and she extended a calming hand in its direction as her stomach twisted itself into a knot.

"Adam," she said. "It's me. Belle. Calm down, my love."

The beast cocked its head, studying her, and then it lunged. It paws pounding along the ground, its horns gleamed in the faint glow of her rose, and Belle did the only thing that made sense in that moment. She spun on her heels and ran. Rounding the corner, she winced as the beast slammed into the wall, unable to make the turn as cleanly as she had, but she didn't stop to check if it had slowed. Instead, leaping over a thick vine sticking out through the ground, she began taking the stairs two at a time, hoping that they would slow him.

Her heart beat like a drum, the magic around her blazing, and another petal fell. Gasping for breath as she ran, she looked down, for the first time realizing that there was just a single petal left. She must have been searching for him longer than she'd thought, she realized with a pang. Time would no longer wait. She was all but out of it.

The beast was hot on her heels as she burst into the sanctum, and suddenly, it stopped, sniffing the air. Belle froze, turning around as a second howl tore through the night, and she felt as though she'd just been stabbed through the heart. _Alyssa_. Her daughter was here. She had not escaped. _Oh, beloved Godmother have mercy._ Her daughter was still in the castle, trapped by the curse, and if she was anything like her father, she too had lost her mind to her beastly nature.

Adam roared in response to the howl, baring his teeth, and the statement made by the sound was clear. He was issuing a challenge, as wild animals did when attempting to take on their own territory. Turning away from Belle, he began to stomp away, heading in the direction of Alyssa's howls, his hackles raised.

No… Belle could not allow that. She glanced at her rose. The last petal drooped, ready to fall, and her mind was made up. If she allowed the Chronorose's spell to break, then she would become an object, just like the rest of the castle. If the last petal fell whilst the spell was active, then time would freeze for as far as she extended the spell. And, unlike now, she would be frozen as well.

It was a death sentence. No, it was worse. She would never age, never move, never die. She would be trapped in place, frozen like a statue until the world itself came to an end.

Adam roared. Somewhere, in the depths of the castle, Alyssa howled in response, and by the sound of it, she had accepted the challenge.

No, thought Belle. She could not allow them to fight. Alyssa was strong, but no match for her father, even in her beastly state. She would not allow her daughter to die.

"Beast, did I say you could leave?" she yelled, grasping a piece of rubble and hurling it at her husband. It struck him in the back with a dull thump, and he turned, glaring at her with large, yellow eyes. Glad she had got his attention, she flung another chunk of rubble at him.

The Beast lunged. The Beauty raised her rose.

The final petal fell, and within the sanctum of Amoré, time froze. Suspended in midair, Adam glared at her, his claws extended and ready to rip into her throat, but he did not move, not even to breathe. The dust motes remained static before her eyes, and even as the moon shifted in the sky overhead, the moonbeams within the room remained fixed in place. The last petal hung between them, shrivelled and dead, and all she held in her hand was a drooping stem. Belle remained as still as a statue, unable to move, unable to speak or breathe, and all the world was silent.

Now and forever, she had promised him on their wedding day. And, in the end, she had kept her vow.


	18. Love is an Open Door

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 **Love is an Open Door**

* * *

"You know, not that I mind you showing up unannounced, but I'll be honest. I'm going through a lot right now so I'm not sure exactly how much fun I'll be," said Cornelius, holding up the bottle of wine he'd filched from the kitchens. "On the other hand, I'm going through a lot right now, and I've recently decided to try drinking."

"Ah, Neil, you know just what to say to a friend when he's down," said Ali, a grin curling across his lips. "Actually, I'm here because I need to get away from my problems, and I decided to try drinking a long time ago, so why's the bottle not open yet?"

Cornelius chuckled, rolling his eyes at his friend. At the end of the day, Ali was always great company, and if he was being perfectly honest, he did have a lot on his plate. Coming to terms with the knowledge that he had died was… different… yes, that was the best word for it. After completely freaking out after talking to his wife about the situation, he had realized that it changed nothing, not really.

He'd been dead and back for years, but now he knew about it. Shaking himself, he realized that he'd been standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom for a few minutes and that Ali was staring at him. Hurriedly uncorking the bottle and pouring two glasses, he handed one to his friend and chugged the other before settling down in the chair beside the fireplace.

"So, short story first, long story later, just like always?" he asked.

"Well, you asked so I'll go first," replied Ali. "Got robbed, got laid, evil wizard cursed my kingdom, almost died, got baby, broke curse, lost baby, broke up with lady, here I am, away from it all."

"Interesting," said Cornelius, nearly spitting out his wine. Oh, he definitely needed the full story for this one, but he had the faintest feeling that he'd prefer to have a few glasses of wine in him first. A few aspects of Ali's recap sounded, well, incredibly depressing. "Here's what happened on my end. Drowned, died, came back somehow, got laid, eloped, found out I died and came back, and here I am, talking to you."

Ali raised an eyebrow. "Neil, when did life get so complicated?"

Not knowing how the answer, Cornelius shrugged. Life had gotten significantly harder in recent years. At the very least, he could safely say that it was not just him who was feeling the strain. Finally, thinking it best to say something rather than wait for Ali to ask him another question he didn't know the answer to, he said, "You know, you're the only person who calls me that. It's a good nickname. Perfect abbreviation of my name. I have no idea why everyone calls me Cor."

"Other people are boring and have no imagination," replied Ali. "So, now we have the summaries, full stories?"

By the time they had finished talking about the minor issues that had cropped up since they'd last spoken; the bottle was empty, the sun was setting, and Cornelius was feeling a bit lighter than he had in recent days. The truth was, even though he loved both Nick and Alyssa, it was nice to sometimes hang out with the friends he rarely saw and catch up with them. Ali always brought a fresh perspective to things, even if he did always wind up getting Cornelius in trouble when the two of them were together. Now, though, it was time for the tougher talks, and Ali seemed to have downed enough wine—more than his half of the bottle, Cornelius groused—to be hurtling through one of the most disturbing tales he'd ever heard.

Good Godmother, but he was old enough to understand that any story involving Rumpelstiltskin could only end in tragedy.

"Woah," said Cornelius, not knowing how to respond after Ali had filled him in on what had gone down between Aquaria and him. "Damn, that's rough."

"I'm not even mad, to be honest," said Ali, his shoulders slumping. "I'm just… it's hard to explain. Like, you know when your parents are planning a surprise party for you but nobody shows up to the party, and they cover it up, but deep down you still know you've really missed out on something that could have been great?"

"I get it. I just think I need more wine before I know exactly what to say in response to that story," replied Cornelius, awkwardly running a hand through his hair. To think that just that morning, he'd thought that Alyssa and he had problems, and whilst they did, the fallout of their elopement being chief amongst those problems, Ali and Aquaria definitely seemed to have it worse. Of that, there was no question.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. I honestly have no idea how to respond to the knowledge that you're a zombie," said Ali with a sigh. "You don't have to say anything, Neil, it's just something I have to work through on my own. Besides, you and your parents have already done so much by just letting my crash here for a week or two."

"Trust me, if I could, I would have sent you packing," said Cornelius, fighting the urge to grin despite the sombre atmosphere of the room. "But, when the crown prince of Agrabah shows up on a flying carpet and informs the guards that he's here on royal business, it's not like we can point him in the direction of the nearest inn."

Ali rolled his eyes. "It's good to know that the world could be coming apart at the seams around us, and you'll still be a wise-cracking asshole."

"What can I say?" replied Cornelius, leaning back in his chair and quirking an eyebrow. "As Alyssa likes to say, I aim to please."

Ali chuckled, propping up his feet on the ottoman. Reaching for the wine bottle, he shook it and frowned. "How is this finished and I can't even feel a buzz?" Standing up, he headed for the bed and, to Cornelius's amusement, began rooting about his trunk. Finally, he stood back up, grinning, and held out two large bottles. "Agrabah's finest," he said.

"You really have a problem," said Cornelius, accepting the offered bottle. Taking a drink, he screwed up his face in disgust at the bitter taste. Swallowing as quickly as he could, he gagged before turning to his friend. "What the hell is this?"

"No, I just have experience," retorted Ali, chuckling. "And like I said, Agrabah's finest. Dad prefers beer. Mum drinks wine. That means nobody touches the actual hard stuff or even notices when it goes missing."

Ali had always been that way, Cornelius reasoned as he tried to take another drink. Nearly spitting it out, he decided that this was one thing he wouldn't be able to chug straight from the bottle, and he reached for his glass. Pouring himself a small serving, he studied his friend. The ravages of the cursed sickness Ali had mentioned were still present, but even though he still carried himself with the same wild indifference he always had, there was a touch of sadness in his eyes. Well, considering what he'd just shared, Cornelius didn't blame him. If Ali chose to drink a bit too much just to dull the ache of the entire affair, then who was he to judge him?

The Godmother alone knew that had he been in Ali's shoes, his father would likely find him passed out in the castle's wine cellar come morning.

The next swig of the mysterious alcohol went down much easier, and he scratched his head. Thinking back, he wasn't quite sure when he'd become friends with Ali. When their parents had left for the Battle of Oloria and left the lot of them in Arendelle with Princess Anna, he'd still been seven years ago. Nick and Alyssa had been six, and his wife had naturally gravitated towards the two children nearest to her own age. Ali, on the other hand, was two years older than him, and whilst it wasn't a big deal now, it had seemed like quite a huge gap back then. Ali, who had thought himself too cool to be playing with the children, as he'd said back then, had spent his days in Arendelle with Princess Sigrun and Princess Aquaria… and the friendship between he and Ali had only begun years later, if he was being honest with himself.

Still, when considering his roster of friends, Nick and Alyssa would be at the top of the personal hierarchy. But, surprisingly, Ali was right behind them on the list.

There were actually a fair few similarities between the two trios, now that he thought about it. There was him, who was rather dashing and mischievous, just like Ali. Lovable rascals, the pair of them, really. And, then there was Alyssa and Aquaria, both of whom didn't have human physiologies, and both of whom were romantically involved with their respective group's lovable rascal. And, then there was Sigrun, who rode a dragon… just like Nick. He giggled, liquor spilling from between his lips. He'd have to remember that last joke for the next time he saw Morgan.

"Why, thank you, Neil, I didn't know I meant that much to you," said Ali, grinning at him and nudging him with the bottle. "And who is Morgan?"

Cornelius' eyes flared open as he realizing he'd been monologuing aloud. Glancing at the bottle in his hand as if it had betrayed him, he set it down beside him. That was enough of that, whatever it was. If this was what they made in Agrabah, then a lot of things about Ali were starting to make a lot of sense.

"Oh, I didn't mention," slurred Cornelius, tapping his head. "Nick is gay now, and his boyfriend's name is Morgan. He's a dragon. Breathes fire and does magic and everything."

Ali raised an eyebrow. "Nick is gay _now?_ Please, the last time he came to Agrabah, he followed me around the castle like a lovesick puppy 'Twas rather cute, to be honest, but I don't swing that way... mostly."

"I know, right?" Cornelius giggled. Somehow, everything that had been bothering him at the beginning of the conversation seemed to have faded away, and he was feeling remarkably light. Almost like a bubble. Not thinking, he grasped the bottle from beside him and drank, and only as the liquor burned its way down his throat, did he realize he might have had a bit too much to drink.

"Can you believe Alyssa didn't know," added Cornelius. "Neither did Aunt Elsa… or Aunt Anna… or Uncle Kristoff—"

"Old people and girls are clueless about these things, Neil," interrupted Ali, nodding along in a very serious matter. "You see, we make a lot of our decisions with the head between our legs, and therefore, we are well versed in noticing when the guys around us are making such decisions." Leaning too forward, he fell out of his chair, nearly spilling what was left in his bottle. Cradling it like a baby, he made to climb back into the armchair and burst out laughing before settling down on the rug, crossing his legs and leaning against the ottoman.

"You know, I know I'm supposed to be feeling very sad, but I don't," continued Ali, "Speaking of not feeling sad, how is Alyssa?" He frowned. "Alyssa Fitzherbert. That's a mouthful."

"That's what she said," giggled Cornelius, and both boys roared with laughter. Swinging around in his comfortable armchair, Cornelius stuck his legs out over one armrest and leaned his back against the other. Almost falling over in the process, he caught himself and grinned, despite a faint voice in the back of his mind telling him that should his wife ever find out he had made such a joke, she would very likely smack him upside the head.

And, his wife hit very hard. Not that he was weak, mind you. She was just very… beastly.

"You're terrible." Ali drawled. "But, seriously, how is Alyssa?"

"She's doing well, last we spoke. Haven't heard from her in a few days, but she said she was telling her parents the news so she's probably busy." He frowned. "Her father is going to kill me, isn't he?"

"Maybe," said Ali, pointing at him. "Hey, you're a zombie a she's a beasty so you're like the world's best novel. Aquaria would totally hate the story and then whine about it to me. I miss her."

"If you miss her, why'd you break up with her?"

"Well, Neil," said Ali, with the air of a man who believed he was speaking perfect sense. "If I didn't break up with her, how would I miss her? See." He tapped his head, nodding. "Smart. I need time to think about things, and she needs to heal, and so I am here, missing her, and that means something, but I'm not quite sure what."

"Very clever," said Cornelius, trying to find the logic and failing. Then, a brilliant idea came to mind. If Ali and he had been able to deduce what was Nick's deal because they were able to think with their external plumbing, then understanding what Aquaria was thinking required the input of somebody with breasts and internal plumbing. Really, it was foolproof. Getting to his feet, he stumbled, nearly falling over. Staggering over to Ali, he dragged his friend off the ground, forcing him to stand. "Come on, let's go talk to Alyssa in my mirror and find out what it means."

"Okay, okay, let's ask your wife," Ali started laughing as he followed along. "I can't believe you got married. Woah. You're married. Congratulations."

"Why thank you."

Stumbling towards the door, Cornelius reached out for the handle when it swung open. He tipped forward, thrown off balance, and Ali grabbed him to steady him. The effort was in vain, however, as he hit the ground with a dull thud, Ali landing on top of him with a loud oomph and knocking the wind out of his lungs. Rolling over, he looked up, frowning at the stern face of his mother's handmaiden, Cassandra.

"We let you into the castle for one afternoon, Prince Ali, and you've already intoxicated our crown prince," she said, rolling her eyes before bending over and hauling them both to her feet. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Don't be mad, Cassie," said Cornelius, reaching out to pinch her cheek. "I brought the first bottle."

Her expression softened as she looked at him, and he frowned at the glint of sympathy and worry in her eyes. "That doesn't surprise me either, knowing you," she said, and he recognized that voice. It was the voice she used when speaking to his mother about very serious matters. Before he could inquire, however, she had spoken.

"Let's get you two to the kitchens to sober up. Your mother needs to speak to you, Cornelius, and you'd best be sober when you get the news. We've received… a letter from Amoré."

* * *

"Did I not tell you to take a few days to rest and relax?" asked Anna, pursing her lips as she walked into her nephew's study.

Nick's head whipped around, and he nearly leapt out of his chair. Grasping for his staff, he nearly knocked a stack of papers off his desk. Slowly, he relaxed upon seeing that it was just her, but the damage had been done.

Her nephew had always been the perfect prince, in her opinion, despite his moodiness over the past few years. If anything, he was a much better heir to the throne than she had been at his age with his perfect posture, reserved nature, and sense of responsibility. The boy had always known his duty, and Anna knew just how much of a toll it had taken on him after the truth of his romantic inclinations had come to light.

It was odd, almost unheard off, for a prince to prefer the company of men, but the world was changing, and it was a good change. Her nephew was probably not the first to have such feelings, but maybe he could be the first to not be forced into the cookie-cutter roles that had been forced on them all. She sighed. It was as true for her own generation as it was for Nick's, in a way, because in her day, all princes and princesses were puppets dancing on their parents' strings.

The strings had been cut, though, or perhaps the puppeteers were simply better people than those who'd come before, but to see Nick smile again had been one of the best moments of the year.

Now though… there were dark rings under his eyes, and his hair was tousled as though it hadn't been combed in a few days. He slouched over his chair, and the buttons of his shirt had been done up wrong. Her frown deepened. What he'd been through just a few days ago had been nightmarish, much as he protested he was fine, but at least the guards she's stationed outside Morgan's room said that her nephew no longer woke up in the middle of the night, yelling in alarm.

"I've rested," said Nick. "But, there's work to do. Mum's forces have made landfall, and she writes that Princess Sigrun has made significant headway in the north. However, the south remains overrun, and we've still had no word from Renvale or Eléadoré. If we want to minimise losses, we need to get them to commit to the fight."

"Elsa wrote that?" asked Anna, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, not in those words, per say, but—"

"But nothing, Nick," she said, coming up to stand beside the list and glance over her nephew's paperwork. "If more troops are needed in the Imperium, then your mother would have said so. She may not look it, but this is not the first time she's led Arendelle to war."

"I know, but—"

"Nick, breathe." Leaning down, she picked up the letter her nephew had been penning. Addressed to King Charming of Renvale, she realized, and her frown deepened. "Five spelling errors in the first line, Nick? This isn't like you at all."

Her nephew remained silent, and she sighed as she walked across the room to the loveseat beside the fireplace. Gesturing at the armchair across from the coffee table, she waited for him to join her. Elsa had entrusted the running of Arendelle to Nick, but her sister was not an idiot. He was still sixteen, younger than Elsa had been when she was crowned, and ruling a kingdom was not an easy task—stringent instructions had been left with Kristoff and herself, and the royal seal had been left not to Nick, but to her, to use in locum tenens on any major decisions.

They all had faith in Nick, they did, but this much pressure was not good for someone so young, and coupled with the incident that had occurred a few days ago… Anna had been her sister's most trusted advisor for decades now, and she was not the headstrong young girl she had been. She knew when it was time to let her nephew practice riding the horse on his own, but she also knew when to reach out and grasp the reins.

"Did you know," she began, once Nick had taken a seat with a slightly petulant glint in his eyes, "That after the Battle of Oloria, your mother was in no shape to rule? Physically, she was fine; a few bruises, some scrapes, it was nothing that wouldn't heal quickly. Mentally, she needed time to deal with the horrors she had witnessed on the battlefield. I ruled in her stead for three weeks whilst she came to grips with what weighed on her."

"Aunt Anna, I'm fine."

"You're _not_ fine, and I'll tell you why," she said. "Your mother was still pregnant when we annexed The Southern Isles, but it was not as pretty and simple as the history books paint. During the annexation talks, there was an attempt made on your mother's life. I remember that day very well. The three of us; your mother, Kristoff, and I were in her study when two of Prince Hans' brothers and a few of their followers managed to infiltrate the castle. They knocked Elsa out before she could react, knowing her power, and we might all very well have died that day… It was the one time your father broke Tsar Luna's decree, and I've never seen him so furious as when he burst through the window and froze the lot of them with a snap of his fingers."

Nick was staring at her with wide eyes, and it was clear that this was the first time he was hearing any of this. Personally, it was not something she was comfortable reliving, as even when Prince Hans' sword had been descending on her on the frozen fjords of Arendelle, even when she had been seconds away from turning into an ice statuette… being in that study with a knife at her throat, Kristoff forced to his knees between two burly brigands, and her pregnant sister knocked out on the ground with a sword at her neck, ready to stab down the moment she came to… that had been the most terrifying moment of her life.

"I am telling you this because I know what it's like to have the one place in the world that you believed would always be safe be violated, and you don't get over it by throwing yourself into work. Look at you, Nick, you're not sleeping, and you nearly jumped out of your chair when I walked in."

"You're right," he sighed. Resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his palms, he slumped forward, hanging his head just a little. "I'm trying, but… it's hard."

"It gets easier with time," she said, "But that's what you need. Take a few days, or a few weeks. Go skating. Read a few books. Unwind."

"You know I'd go mad if I spent all my time playing," he replied with a wan smile. "I like the work. It keeps me busy."

"Then, how about this. Take a few steps back. Leave the big stuff to your uncle and I for a while. There's always busy work that comes with running a kingdom, and it's boring, but it does keep one busy." She smiled, glad that he wasn't putting up more of a fight. To be honest, she had expected one, but Nick must be more worn down than he let on.

Happy that she had done what was needed here, she made to get up. There was still a lot to do. Renata Queen was still in the dungeons, refusing to speak, and there was the small matter of finding a new hidey-hole for the weapon Jack had left in their vaults. If the enemy knew where it was, then it was no longer safe in the castle, and… she glanced at her nephew. It was neither her place nor her right to give it to him, and he was still too young to wield it. Then, there were the dukes and duchesses of the land, and the war effort in the Imperium, and of course, Morrigan, who was thankfully a very well-behaved baby.

"If there's nothing else," she said, "I'll be seeing you at dinner."

Nick paused, biting his lip, and she frowned. Sitting back down, she crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in her seat, waiting patiently for him to say what he had to say. It wasn't as though she couldn't take a few extra minutes… Renata had refused to speak to anyone since her incarceration, and she doubted she'd get much from the girl by showing up on time for the daily interrogations. Best to let her stew for a bit.

"Aunt Anna, this is awkward, but how do you know you're in love?"

 _Oh…_ This would take more than a few minutes, she realized. Taking a deep breath, she answered with the first thing that came to mind.

"I suppose you just know," she replied, thinking back to how she'd known. Well, she hadn't known so much as Olaf had told her, but she supposed that at some level, she'd known, because she'd reciprocated Kristoff's feelings. She fidgeted with her fingers. This was a hard topic, and if she was being honest with herself, Nick would be better served visiting her husband's family, the rock trolls who happened to be love experts.

"Yes, but how do you just know?" asked Nick. "I mean… what if you think you are but… how can I say this and have it make sense?" He flushed. "What if you're looking for your Kristoff but end up with Prince Hans?"

 _So that's what this is about_ … she sighed at the memory of her greatest mistake, and how close that mistake had come to costing her everything. But, she thought, glancing at her nephew, his story was not the same.

"At the risk of finding out more than an aunt should, how close are you and Morgan?" she asked, hoping she wouldn't learn anything that would make her look at her nephew in a different light.

His flush deepened, and he looked away. "We sleep together, but we don't _sleep_ together," he said. "Sometimes the kisses get a bit heated and hands… wander… but it's not gotten that far, but he's shared things with me that he says he hasn't shared with anyone, and I believe him, and I've told him stuff about myself that I don't share all that easily, you know? And… Aunt Anna, when they broke into my bedroom and had us all at knifepoint, I was worried about myself, and I was worried about Lady Yuë…"

"But you were scared spitless about anything happening to him?" she finished, raising her eyebrow. Well, they were certainly more serious about each other than she had expected, and as for the physical aspect of it all, she could have gone without hearing that. Still, it all came together to form an intriguing picture in her mind.

"It's impossible for me to tell you how _you_ feel," she said, weighing her words carefully. "But, it sounds like you really care about Morgan, and while I would definitely say that the son of Maleficent would have never been my first choice for you, he's a good kid. And, I owe my life and Morrigan's life to him, which means he'll always have a place in my heart. So, how about I turn this question back around on you. Do you love him?"

"I do, but you always said you thought you loved Prince Hans, and—"

"I thought I loved Prince Hans, and there were many extenuating circumstances to that mistake. I'd been isolated for years whilst Elsa refused to leave her room, cooped up in the castle since our parents died, and all I wanted was someone to be there for me. I was naive and young, and I was tired of being alone. But, I knew I loved Kristoff after the adventure we shared, after getting to know who he was. Nick, sometimes you're going to get hurt in love. But, you can't let that hold you back."

Nick considered her for a long moment before a wan smile spread across his face. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, he leaned back in his armchair and there was a glint of something in his eyes, something she couldn't quite place but recognized all the same.

Getting to her feet, she squeezed his shoulder as she passed him by. He would be okay, she knew, even if things didn't work out in the end. Like Elsa had been there for her, to pick her up when she'd fallen and scraped her knees in love, her nephew had people around him to do the same.

"Hey, Aunt Anna," he called as she reached the doorway.

"Yes, Nick?" she asked, pausing with her hand on the doorknob and glancing over her shoulder.

"Thanks."

* * *

Christopher Charming had always known he was a rather peculiar individual: he was twenty years old and his best friend was a teddy bear, he was prone to daydreaming whenever it was time to actually work, and he'd much rather spend his time sketching or painting than actually doing his duties as a crown prince. Of course, he hadn't always hated the job, but a lifetime of ridicule had soured him to it, if just enough that he'd often considered abdicating. The only thing that had allowed him to continue was the idea that one day, he could make things better for his Kingdom.

Yes, he was odd. But, in his opinion, he had never been a bad person.

Which made it all the more cruel, he thought, that bad things kept happening to him.

In the ruins of Amoré, he knelt between the thick roots of an ancient elm. A brook babbled in front of him, and he'd found a few wild grape vines and berry bushes for food. He was barefoot, because he hadn't been wearing shoes when he'd made his escape, and his socks had been ripped to shreds as soon as he'd entered the woods. On the bright side, since he'd found the nook in the elm tree's roots, his feet had stopped bleeding. He sighed. He didn't even have the shirt on his back any longer, having used it to wrap Chip in to keep the porcelain cup from breaking during the many stumbles he'd taken.

Still, it wasn't all bad, he thought, trying to cheer himself up. He had company in the form of Pooh and Chip. His bear was asleep, tuckered out by their day of hiking through the woods, and Chip was carefully balanced on a root, half-wrapped in his shirt, in a manner that made sure he couldn't tip over and crack. He had a sword, which he couldn't use very well, but he'd grabbed it from a dead guard who clearly wouldn't be needing it anymore. He had his jacket to keep off the rain, and even if his trousers were ripped at the hems, it was better than not having any. Whilst he was not muscled or particularly strong, he was fit enough to run without getting winded and slim enough to squeeze through small spaces, both of which had come in handy during his escape. There were fruit and berries in the woods… and, he shuddered at the idea, but if he was truly desperate, there were fish in the brook.

His stomach growled, and he winced.

"You need to eat, kid," said Chip. "Not to be dramatic, but you're pretty much my only shot at getting my body back, and if you starve, I'm going to be shit out of luck."

"I am eating," Christopher retorted, gesturing at the half-eaten bunch of grapes in his lap. "It's not like I can go into the village. You saw those… things." He shuddered. The monstrosities lurking in the village and castle grounds were what had forced him into the woods—they towered over him, hulking and hideous, looking almost as though they'd been stitched together from different corpses.

"Can't we sneak in? You can knock them out with that handy little power of yours, can't you?"

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "It works on Pooh and most people, but it doesn't work on my sister's cat, so who knows if it will work on those things? But I'm not prepared to get close enough to test it out."

Chip sighed and fell silent, leaving Christopher alone to his thoughts. He needed to get out of Amoré, but the land was unfamiliar, and he didn't have a map. If he headed west, he knew that he'd reach the borders of Corona, and if he headed south, he'd reach Eléadoré. His problem, however, was that he was not very good with the great outdoors, and he didn't have a compass to help him find out which direction to go in. The sun could give him some help, but since the curse, the sky had been covered in thick grey clouds, leaving the sun as a faint glow.

He'd need provisions as well, but there was no telling how many of those monsters were out there, and it wasn't as though he could go back to the castle. There was something there that even the monsters feared, judging by the wide berth they'd given the castle, but even here, a few miles away, he could still hear the piercing howls in the night. Chip had said it was a beast, but the cup had fallen strangely silent when pressed, and Christopher hadn't wanted to prod.

Like as not, Pooh was not the best companion for situations like these, and he needed to stay on good terms with Chip if he wanted to get out of here in one piece.

Leaning back in the nook, he shivered. It would be another cold night if the chill in the air was to be believed, and he wasn't looking forward to it. His trousers were still slightly damp from when he'd washed the blood of his feet, and his jacket was thin, the type one wore for appearance as opposed to functionality. And, he needed a fire, though he knew that he couldn't have one. For one, he had no flint, and for another, he knew that the smoke would give away his location.

 _I just have to tough it out_ , he thought, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He'd endured an awful lot in his life, but that had just made him mentally strong. Physically, he'd been ready to curl into a ball and weep after just a day in the woods, and the only thing that kept him going was the fact that both Pooh and Chip were counting on him to get them out of this.

"Hey kid," said Chip.

"Yeah?" he asked, not looking at the cup. It was getting dark, and he huddled down in the nook, hoping the roots would keep off the worst of the wind.

"It's going to be alright," said Chip. "Just keep your head up. The dawn always comes."

He sighed, reaching out to pick the cup up. Setting it down beside him in a tiny hole between the roots, he laid his shirt over himself as a makeshift blanket and turned on his side, trying to get comfortable. It was difficult.

"You think so?" he asked.

"I know so," replied Chip, clinking slightly in the hole. "You don't lose hope, kid. If you do, you lose everything. At least, that's what my mother used to say before she passed. Just keep your head up and know that it'll turn out all right in the end."

* * *

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you for a while," said Nick, a wan smile on his lips as he led his boyfriend down to the fjords. "It's just been really stressful, you know, and well, running a kingdom, even with my aunt and uncle doing so much… it's hard. I mean, I knew it would be hard, but not this difficult, and honestly speaking, I kn—"

"Nick," interrupted Morgan, wrapping his arms—which felt rather odd given that his boyfriend had dressed like an Eskimo upon hearing that they were going out for the day—around Nick's waist. "Babbling."

"Thanks," he replied, feeling the familiar flush in his cheeks. "I am sorry, though."

"It's fine," said Morgan. "I get that you have a lot on your plate and that the job is rough. Just yesterday I had the displeasure of meeting the Duke of Weselton, and after having to speak to him for just a minute, I don't even know how you stay sane. And, even if you spend the entire day holding court in the throne room, meeting with nobles and advisors, and sitting in your study with your paperwork, I still get you at night."

"That's incredibly sweet," said Nick, raising an eyebrow. "So, I take it you're reading romance novels again?"

"I can't help it," said Morgan, raising his hands into the air in surrender. "I've already made my way through every other piece of fiction in your library."

Chuckling, Nick glanced about the shore. The cold caress of winter still clung to the land, and it would be months before the snow let up and the fjords began to thaw. Finally, finding a suitable spot between hoarfrost-dusted bushes and beneath a snow-laden tree, he headed over and unfurled the picnic blanket. Finally, he twirled his fingers, letting a few tendrils of frost snake out into the air and form an icy partition, obscuring the blanket from the view of the path.

His Aunt had insisted he take a break for a day, at the very least, and she'd suggested he do something relaxing. Uncle Kristoff had suggested he spend the day sparring to work out his stress. Bryn had suggested he do something with Morgan that he currently only did to himself in the shower, and she had earned a snowbalI to the face in retaliation. Morgan, thankfully, had suggested they go on a date, which was honestly the best idea of the lot.

This was the first time he and Morgan had done something together outside of the castle, and whilst it was rather unorthodox to go on a first date after sharing a bed for a few weeks, it fit them perfectly, in his opinion. They were an out of the ordinary couple that did not fit the norm, but it made him happy, and he hoped it made Morgan happy, and as his mother had always told him, that was all that really mattered in the end.

He sighed, worry for his mother springing unbidden to his mind. He'd received a letter just a day or two ago; she had made landfall in the Imperium, alongside Queen Ariel, and they had established a secure base of operations from which to launch the counter-offensive.

"Hey, Nick," said Morgan, sitting down beside him on the blanket and nudging him in the shoulder. "You going to spend the day lost in your thoughts, because if you are, we could do it in your study where it's warm."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've just got a lot on my mind."

"Such as?" pressed Morgan, leaning over to unpack the picnic basket. "Talk to me, Frosty."

Nick was silent until the food had been completely spread out before him. It was a simple lunch: a bottle of spring water, another of grape juice, grilled salmon sandwiches for him, and what looked like an entire elk leg for Morgan. He snorted. His boyfriend may look like a gentleman for the most part, but there was no denying that Morgan ate like a dragon. There was pudding for dessert, and a few other odds and ends to snack on. He'd have to thank the kitchen staff for this later… perhaps he'd give them the afternoon off… or permission to spit in the Duke of Weselton's food.

Though, to be completely honest, he suspected that they did that already.

Shaking himself, he turned to Morgan, who was waiting expectantly for him to begin. Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"The truth is, Morgan, there's a lot going on that's wearing me out. I'm worried sick about my mum. I'm running a kingdom, and the nobles are all very old and very crotchety. And…" Nick bit his lip before taking a deep breath. "I'm still jumpy from having three strangers break into my bedroom and try to kill me. I'm the prince and I have to be strong, but you've noticed it. I seal your door with frost before going to bed every night. I had to send you to my bedroom to get my stuff for me because I still can't go in there. I jump if someone comes up behind me unexpectedly. I… Godmother above… I just feel so on edge. And you're normal. You're like… Is something wrong with me for being scared about this?"

"Hey," said Morgan gently, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his brow. "I was bloody terrified as well, and Yuë is still being prescribed potions that keep her sedated. Maybe I'm dealing with the whole thing better than you because, honestly, I'm used to people trying to kill me, much as I hate it, but you're doing a lot better than I did the first time I had a knife to my throat. You're sleeping through the night again, and you're a little jumpy, but that's to be expected."

"I'm sleeping through the night again because it's hard to have bad dreams when I'm with you," admitted Nick, flushing as he turned his attention towards the food, not wanting to look Morgan in the eye after that confession. "It's silly, I know, I just… sometimes when I wake up, it takes me a second to not feel as though the door is bursting open and those three aren't storming in again."

"I know that being told not to worry rarely helps," said Morgan, smiling at him. "But just ask yourself one thing. How many princes can safely say that if somebody comes after them, they have a dragon protecting them."

Nick laughed, leaning into Morgan's shoulder as he did so. This… this was why he had fallen for Morgan, he realized. In the beginning, the attraction had been a lot simpler. His boyfriend was attractive, a bit awkward, and there'd been a common ground between the two of them that had helped them forge their friendship. Both of them had been lonely in their own ways, and they both had their issues to work through, and the Godmother alone knew that he'd been a bundle of nerves and moodiness for the past, well, year. Yet, it wasn't the big things that had brought them together that had led him into falling in love.

It was the little things. It was how, no matter how upset or irritated he was, Morgan could make him laugh. It was how whenever he began to babble, Morgan stopped him before he could embarrass himself by saying something he shouldn't. It was how… he paused, turning back to his boyfriend and smiling. He could spend the entire day listing the little things that had led him to this point, but he didn't need to, because he already knew them all by heart.

Leaning in, he pressed his lips to Morgan's, reaching up to cup his boyfriend's cheek as he did so. Morgan, for his part, seemed surprised yet eager to reciprocate, and as his boyfriend's tongue slid between his lips, he was drawn back to the first kiss they'd shared, all clicking teeth and bumping noses, and he realized how much better at this they had gotten. A hand trailed down his back as he buried his fingers in Morgan's hair, and when he finally pulled away for air, his cheeks were red and his lips felt just a little swollen.

"And, what was that for?" asked Morgan, grinning.

"For being my boyfriend," replied Nick, reaching for his sandwiches. "For helping me smile even when I'm down. And because I just like kissing you."

"And to think you were laughing at me for reading romance novels," teased Morgan. "Really, that's the sappiest thing you've ever said to me."

"Well, I could be mean to you if you want," said Nick, raising a challenging eyebrow.

When Morgan smirked, accepting the challenge, Nick rolled his eyes. Oh, he could be quite mean when he wanted to. Even if he had been flicking through the latest novel he'd found on Morgan's bedside table in hopes of finding romantic things to say, he could totally say unromantic, unsappy things as well. Forcing a haughty expression to his face, he turned up his nose, and said, "You're tactless. You're a dork. You hog the covers. You make me wear socks to bed. I hate you, Morgan Thorn. Harrumph."

"That's too bad, because I love you, Nick Frost."

* * *

 _Tsar Luna, I've been a good guy. I haven't killed anyone who hasn't tried to kill me first. I don't burn down any villages. I don't play with my food. So, please, I beg you, strike me down now._

Morgan's cheeks blazed as he clapped a hand to his mouth, wondering how the hell those words, of all the words in his vocabulary, had escaped his mouth in that particular order. It was just… Nick had been such an adorable dork in that moment, and it had just come out, but it really was too soon.

The thing was… he really did love Nick. The realization had come during the incident with Renata and the De Vil twins, and even though there had been an iron blade poised to stab him in the eye, it had only taken a single look at Nick with a dagger at his throat for all concern for himself to slip away. When Dominique's glove had burned his neck, it had hurt, but the look of anguish on Nick's face had been worse—it was genuine caring and warmth, the type of thing he'd only ever expected to receive from his mother. And, when morning came after they'd went to bed the night after the attack, having been awake the entire day dealing with the home invasion, he hadn't woken up terrified or shivering. He'd woken up relieved to still have Nick in his arms, and when Nick cried out in his sleep during those early days of recuperation, each sound had been a punch to his gut. It was all that he needed to make him realize that, despite deciding to take things slow and figure things out, and even though their relationship was still very new, he had fallen in head over heels for Nick Frost.

He had never been in love before, so there was no way of telling for sure. Perhaps, he just thought he was in love. He'd read many novels over the years though, and he'd picked up a few things, however romanticised they may have been. To care for someone more than you cared for yourself… that was love, and that was what he felt for Nick.

He was acutely aware of the world around him. Nick was staring at him, eyes wide, and it had begun to snow. His heart was thudding in his ears, and his stomach had twisted itself into a very tight knot. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, a dull grey gleam in the sky, and Nick… Nick had a nervous smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes, and Morgan took a deep breath.

"I love you too, Morgan," said Nick, and just like that, the terror that had threatened to overwhelm him in those brief few moments flickered and disappeared.

"You do?" he said, a smile breaking out across his face.

"I do," replied Nick, leaning in for a kiss.

So far, there had been clumsy kisses and heated kisses, but this was the first time Morgan would call their kiss demure. It was innocent, in a way, with no tongue or groping, and it was probably the best kiss of his life. When it broke, he smiled as Nick leaned back against him, and he sighed in satisfaction. Things would be okay.

"Well," said Morgan, after a few minutes of silence. "I'm sort of glad I got to do that milestone first. You got all the rest so far."

"I did not," said Nick. "I just kissed you first when we started dating."

"Rescued me from mortal peril first…"

"Please, you were not in mortal peril. My guards were just giving you a hard time."

"Took off your clothes first…"

"Not all of us like sleeping in ovens. I like the cold."

"I slept in your room before you slept in mine…"

"You asked me to let you spend the night."

"You wore my clothes first…"

"The dragon shorts are comfortable, and you said they were brand new, so it doesn't count."

Morgan grinned, wrapping his arms around Nick's chest pulling him closer until he felt Nick's hair on his face. Shifting slightly so he wasn't inhaling his boyfriend's shampoo and leaning in so that his lips were right beside his boyfriend's ear, he whispered, "You know, we could stay here forever. You build us a small house made of ice. I'll hunt for food. No more worries of ruling and stuff."

"That sounds nice," replied Nick. "But I rather like being a future king."

"I know you do," he said, honest as he kissed Nick on the neck. "You do a good job, you know. I may not understand half of the things you say about tariffs and foreign policy, but I think you do a good job."

Nick giggled, shivering slightly. "Stop that, it tickles. And, thank you for saying I'm a good prince. Though, now you mention it, a castle of ice does sound nice."

"A castle? I said a cottage."

"Did I ever mention our winter palace? It's in the hills, and it's a castle made entirely of ice. When I was younger, the entire family used to go there for a week every year. It's perfect and quiet, and far away from everything. So, let's make a deal."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "I like deals," he said, letting his arms fall to Nick's waist. "So, I'm listening."

"When my mother gets home and everything calms down, how about you and me go away to the winter palace for a weekend?"

"I'd like that." Morgan smiled. It did sound like fun, and their picnic had reminded him how much he enjoyed being alone with Nick. Having an entire palace to themselves, on the other hand, sounded like it would be the best weekend of his life. The Winter Palace of Arendelle… there was a story there, which he'd have to get from Nick soon. He'd never heard of it, so it must be a fairly recent addition, built within the last few decades at the least. Most of the history books he'd read were fairly outdated, and this was the first time in his life he'd been to Arendelle, and… oh dear, he thought, _I'm babbling._

The rest of the day passed them by in what felt like a blink of an eye, and by the time they were making the trek up to the castle, the L-word had been dropped numerous times, the food was gone, and the snow was beginning to come down heavier and heavier. Nick held up a hand as they rushed through the city, parting the snowflakes above and ahead of them, and as they stumbled into the entrance hall of the castle, they were grinning like two young fools.

Footsteps sound through the castle, and he looked up, surprised to see Princess Anna descending upon them from the top of the stairs. It was late, and she should be at dinner, given the time, along with the other members of the royal family and the visiting dignitaries.

"Nick. Morgan. I was just about to send the guards out looking for you," said Princess Anna, walking down the stairs. She was upset, Morgan realized, and her face was lined with worry. There was a letter in her hand, clutched between her fingers, and he frowned upon catching sight of the broken seal. It was red, and the motif was that of a rose.

"Aunt Anna, what's going on?" asked Nick, removing his arm from around Morgan's shoulders and standing up straight. He frowned. "Is that from Amoré?"

She nodded, and Morgan felt his heart sink as she wordlessly handed Nick the letter. His boyfriend's face fell as his gaze skimmed across the words, and when he looked up, he looked as though he had just been clubbed over the head.

"Amoré has fallen," Nick said, his voice thick. "Oh, dear Godmother… Alyssa."


	19. The Dragon's Fury

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

 **The Dragon's Fury**

* * *

The council of Arendelle was a small one, but each voice carried a lot of weight. His mother had always insisted on keeping things minimalist, citing the fact that one font of wisdom was worth more than a dozen fools, and Nick had always considered that to be a good thing. Until, of course, he was seated at the head of a long table with eight individuals, four on each side of the table, all of whom disagreed with him.

"Prince Nicholas, if I may be so bold," said Klaus Asulf, the aging minister of war and senior general of Arendelle's army. "The truth of the matter is, we fear that your friendship with Princess Alyssa of Amoré is clouding your judgement with regards to the situation."

Nick leaned forward in his seat, his lips pressed into a thin line. The insinuation rankled on his nerves, and he was not going to accept the insult. Arendelle would always come first on his list of priorities, but surely some assistance could be spared to at least investigate whatever grim fate had befallen Amoré. They were allied kingdoms, after all, and the friendship between them ran deep.

He sighed. The fact that the room had chosen to reject his idea of sending out an expedition to Amoré had been expected if he was being honest with himself, but he'd been confident that he'd have been able to win them over to the idea. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. No, he couldn't give up now—Alyssa needed his help, and he would not rest until he had given it.

"The truth of the matter, General Klaus, is that Arendelle is not a fertile kingdom," he replied, forcing a pleasant smile to his lips. "We cannot survive on elk and seafood alone, and for a long time, we have depended on trade with Amoré to fill our granaries for the winter. That aside, the friendship between our kingdoms is not a recent one, or have you forgotten that I share blood with the royal family of Amoré?"

"It is true that the people of Amoré and Arendelle have enjoyed a very long and prosperous partnership for many decades," interjected grey-haired Agna Turvanger, the royal treasurer, raising a ponderous eyebrow. "And, you do speak the truth by mentioning Queen Belevia and her marriage to your great-grandfather, King Leif, for there has not been a queen as beloved as she until your mother. However, we must think of the present. Can the treasury bear such an expense? Can we spare the troops?"

"Money is no obstacle," said Aunt Anna, pursing her lips. "We may not be a fertile kingdom, but our mines run deep and show no sign of running dry in the near future, and our seas are bountiful. The only cause for hesitation regarding Prince Nicholas' proposition is the number of troops we have left."

"Money is always an obstacle," complained Agna. "The royal vaults did not come to be overflowing in gold by us spending it on every international emergency that was discussed at this table. The war in the Imperium has already drained us significantly."

"Yes, thank you for your words of wisdom, Agna, but you will forgive us for considering you a bit dramatic in this regard," said Uncle Kristoff, and to Nick's amusement, his uncle rolled his eyes. "If I remember correctly, you offered to bake my wedding cake yourself to save a few pennies on the costs of a royal wedding."

"We are getting off topic," said Klaus, raising a hand. "We do not have the troops for such an endeavour. The bulk of our forces are in the Imperium, and the remainder are needed here to keep Arendelle secure."

"Surely, a small platoon of soldiers will not be miss—"

"Prince Nicholas, pardon my interruption, but the council is fully aware of the recent attempt on your life," said Klaus, pursing his lips. "If a group of enemies can infiltrate the castle due to our military being so depleted, the risk increases tenfold for every one soldier we send away."

"There is, however, an alternate idea," said Oskar Lothbrook, the deputy admiral of the Arendelle fleet. A quiet man, he had remained quiet for most of the morning, listening and watching, and Nick turned to him as he spoke. "Mercenaries… we do have a vassal state that has a reput—"

"Absolutely not," said Aunt Anna, her voice growing cold. "The Southern Isles have rebelled twice since we annexed them, and there is no love lost between us and the remaining Westergaards. Do you imagine what Duke Westergaard will do if he learns that the situation has grown so dire that we have to rely on his mercenary bands for aid? There is a reason Queen Elsa took so many troops from The Southern Isles, and that was to prevent an imbalance of power being formed, but one exists all the same."

"They have given us a decade of peace, Princess Anna," said Agna, wringing her hands.

"And, should Prince Hans learn that his homeland has the power to successfully oppose Arendelle and choose to return from exile, there is no telling what could happen," said Kristoff, his voice grim. "There is no discussion to be had. The Southern Isles will not be drawn into this."

Nick rubbed at his temples as the argument raged around him. Time was ticking away, and it was becoming clear that he could not ensure that his kingdom was safe whilst also ensuring that Amoré received all the aid it needed. More than ever, he needed to lean on the neighbouring kingdoms for support, but the situation was grim. Eléadoré and Renvale had both remained silent, despite all attempts to contact them, which had already raised a series of red flags in his head. Agrabah was still recovering, Somnia had sent a polite refusal, Atlantica was capable yet already stretched thin, and Aquitania was in the same boat as Arendelle. It was a difficult position, and deep down, he knew he was not ready to spearhead something like this.

Corona could be counted on, at the very least. There was no force in this world or the next that would keep Cornelius from helping Alyssa in her time of need, so at the very least, Nick knew that he was not alone in this.

 _Mum, I wish you were here._

The councillors were still arguing, gesturing at maps and raising insipid points of contention. Wise, though they may be, it was clear that without a clear hand to guide them, they were little more than a room filled with people, each thinking they were smarter than the other. He sighed. He was not ready.

.

" _How can I be as good a king as you are a queen, Mum?" he asked, sitting cross-legged on the rug beside her desk. Two snowmen battled each other in front of him, enchanted by his magic, but his attention was on the tall pile of papers on his mother's desk._

 _His mother smiled as she glanced down at him, leaning over in her chair to ruffle his hair. A trio of snowflakes ghosted from her fingertips, tickling his cheeks before settling in his hair, and he giggled as he reached up to bat them away._

" _Be as gentle as the snowflake and as forceful as the blizzard. Arendelle is ice and snow, and frozen are its people, but remember, you are the prince, and you will one day be the king. When you rule, don't be a fire that blazes brightly before dimming. Be the glacier, unremovable and unrelenting."_

 _._

He had a duty to the throne, and he could not jeopardise his people by sending away what remained of his troops. In the same vein, he could not turn his back on Alyssa. To separate himself from his duty… that had always been his struggle, but he was not same person he'd been a few months ago. He was both himself and his duty, and there was a way. As the first spark of the idea came to his mind, he frowned at the room, all of whom were still bickering like gnats.

"Enough," he said, raising a hand. "You are all dismissed. My decision has been made."

"Pardon, Prince Nicholas—"

"You are advisors, and you are here to advise me in my mother's absence," he said, cutting off Agna with a stern glance. "I have heard your advice, and I have reached a decision. There is nothing more to be said."

"Very well," said Klaus, regarding him with a ponderous look before rising to his feet and reaching for his cane. "We are indeed the Council of Arendelle, and we serve at your pleasure." Inclining his head, he took his leave, followed closely by the rest, until at last the room was empty save for Nick and his aunt and uncle.

Turning to look at them, he flicked his wrist at the door. A bolt of frost burst from his fingers, sealing the cracks and the lock, and he reached for the map. His aunt and uncle had exchanged a glance, though he could not tell if the look was one of pride or caution. Perhaps it was both, he reasoned.

"Well, what is your decision?" asked Aunt Anna, raising an eyebrow.

"The armies in Arendelle will stay in Arendelle. The mercenaries of The Southern Isles will not be called upon. But, assistance will be given to Amoré all the same." He swallowed, knowing that this would be the part they'd object too. "I will be requesting aid from Queen Rapunzel in the form of a military escort into Amoré, but I will be going myself."

Silence loomed across the room as his aunt's expression morphed to one of horror, and his uncle looked as though he'd been clubbed over the head. Nick took a deep breath, wringing his hands under the desk.

"Nick, you can't," said Uncle Kristoff. "The danger—"

"Nick, surely you can't expect me to give you permission to g—" said Aunt Anna, cutting off her husband.

"I am the crown prince of Arendelle," he replied, raising a hand. "I do not need permission."

Rising from his seat, he unfroze the door and made for it, ready to leave. It would be a short flight to Corona, and it should take him just a few days to link up with the troops Cornelius had likely already marshalled. It was the only way to do ensure that neither his duty or his heart was compromised—Amoré needed assistance, and his powers were quite formidable, if he did say so himself, but Arendelle could not be left undefended, which it would if he sent what remained of his own soldiers on the expedition.

His aunt and uncle were still protesting, but he drowned out their words as he reached for the door handle. Turning his head, he forced a wan smile to his lips, and he nodded.

"It may not be the best solution, but it is the only one," he said. Leaving the room, he let the door swing shut behind him, and he froze as he heard rushed footsteps on the other side. Snapping his fingers, a tendril of frost curled around the handle, forming a lock of ice that would melt away in an hour at the most.

Hurrying now, he darted through the castle, knowing full well there was a timer on him taking his leave. His aunt and uncle would try to stop him, and while their intentions were good, it changed nothing. Alyssa needed help… and he had no choice but to give it, and Arendelle would be secure in his absence.

Flinging open the door to his boyfriend's bedroom, he grabbed a bag from the cupboard and began to stuff his clothes into it. He could get food and other provisions in Corona, and he'd be able to fly there faster than his aunt could send word to Queen Rapunzel to stop him. All he needed was a few changes of clothes and his staff—and to put as many miles between himself and Arendelle as possible before the lock on the door broke.

"What in the Godmother's name are you doing?" asked Morgan, and Nick started, having not realized his boyfriend had been there. Leaning back in bed with a book open on his lap, Morgan wore an expression of concern.

"Packing," said Nick. Biting his lip, he glanced at his boyfriend, weighing the situation in his head. Finally, a decision made, he added, "Morgan, I need help."

Morgan was on his feet in an instant as Nick hurriedly explained the situation, and his boyfriend was packed before he was. Slipping off his boots and sticking them into his bag before pulling it shut, he watched as Morgan cut two holes in the back of his shirt before slipping it on and letting his wings unfurl through them, filling the room. Tossing open the window, the two of them took off into the night.

* * *

 _Son,_

 _I am very sorry to hear of the misfortunes that have befallen Amoré, but there is little that I can currently do to assist. Agrabah still bleeds from the plagues, and the situation remains that our food supplies have run low, and a great deal of the populace are still recovering from illnesses contracted during the plagues._

 _Your father and I have spoken, and we can commit our gold to help fund any efforts…_

Ali set down the letter, not wanting to read more. It was the answer he'd expected, nothing less and nothing more, but he'd had to try nonetheless, for both Alyssa's and Cornelius' sakes. But, his mother was right. His own kingdom had been on the verge of collapse just a few weeks ago and Agrabah had never been a fertile land in the first place. Fresh water came from canals and wells, and with the plagues having killed off livestock and brought down locusts upon their granaries, they were still in no state to lend aid to others.

Hopefully, Cornelius would be luckier at his mother's war council. It would definitely come, Ali believed. Unlike his own kingdom, Corona had not yet been touched by disaster, and unlike Amoré's other allies, their forces were not committed to other wars. And, Amoré and Corona shared a border, to say nothing of the fact that their heirs were married and therefore bound.

The door slammed open behind him and he whirled around, his heart sinking at the furious expression on Cornelius' face. His friend slammed the door behind him before punching the wardrobe hard enough that he left a dent, and as he pulled back his hand, Ali grabbed him by the wrist. Cornelius whirled on him, eyes glinting, not seeming to quite see him, and then a fist was flying at his face.

"Woah, easy there," said Ali, ducking under the punch and spinning under Cornelius' outstretched arm, coming up behind him. Pinning one hand to Cornelius' back and forcing the prince against the wall as gently as he could, he continued, "I take it the council did not go well?"

Cornelius took a deep breath, and his shoulders slumped. Ali relaxed his grip, letting the other prince go, but stayed on his guard all the same. Anger did funny things to people, he'd learned, and he knew from experience that Cornelius tended to hit things when mad… though, he didn't think he'd ever seen his friend so mad that he'd taken a swing at the first person to be within range.

"The situation, according to my mother, is difficult," he growled, walking across the room and flopping down onto the armchair by the fireplace. "Sorry about nearly knocking you out, by the way. I wasn't thinking."

Ali snorted. "Yeah, like you could knock me out." Taking a seat across from his friend, he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his lap. "So, what's the issue?"

"The key problem is getting to Amoré," he said with a sigh. "Whatever happened, it obviously involves a curse of some kind. There are thorny vines blocking all the overland routes, and when the scouts tried cutting through them, two grew back for each one hacked down. Going by sea isn't any easier—there's something in the straits, as per our admiral's reports. A maelstrom, probably magical in nature, that none of our vessels can get through… the alternative is sailing around the other way, but that's a voyage that takes at least two years."

"I would think so," said Ali, frowning at this information. "If you don't take the straits, you'll have to sail all around the Imperium, the Pride Lands south of Agrabah, and the channel beside Dunbroch just to reach Amoré… But, surely logistics can't be enough to—"

"My mother is… hesitant," interrupted Cornelius, clenching his fists. "The plagues of Agrabah, the assault on the Imperium, the continued silence of Renvale and Eléadoré… and now the fall of Amoré? It's a pattern, she thinks, and she wants to help, she really does, but Corona comes first."

Cornelius buried his face in his hands, and for the first time, Ali saw the look of utter defeat wash over his friend. Not sure how to respond, he remained silent, wishing that he had a bottle of something right now. The stress was weighing on him, and a few gulps of wine would likely be enough to relax him enough to actually find a solution.

"Ali… I can't lose _her_ ," Cornelius whispered. "I understand. I know that Corona's safety needs to come first, that my family has a responsibility to our people, but it's Alyssa. I love her, and I need to help her and I don't know how."

"We go ourselves," said an unfamiliar voice, and Ali nearly fell out of his chair. Turning his head so fast that his neck cricked, his eyes widened at the sight of Prince Nicholas floating outside the bedroom window, a serious expression on his face, and some sort of bat-winged individual escorting him.

"Nick? Morgan?" asked Cornelius, rubbing at his eyes and staring at the new arrivals in disbelief. "What in Tsar Luna's name are you two doing here?"

"Well, we planned to link up with your troops and assist you in Amoré, but clearly that's not happening," said Morgan, and Ali raised an eyebrow. So this was the son of Maleficent, which would explain the wings. He was not sure what he'd expected, but if Nick and Cornelius trusted him, then he couldn't be that bad a person.

"Only, it turns out there are no troops," said Nick, his lips pressed into a thin line. "But… it's Alyssa, Cor, and I'm ready to take that risk if it means getting her to safety."

"Ali, you in?" asked Cornelius, biting his lip.

"It sounds stupid and reckless, and we're probably all going to die if we rush in half-cocked and with no back-up into a ruined kingdom with no intelligence as to what exactly happened," said Ali, a smirk curling across his lips. "When do we leave?"

"Good," said Cornelius, determination glinting in his eyes. "Ali, pack your stuff, we'll leave within the hour."

Nodding, Ali rose to his feet to head for the guest room he'd taken for his own during his visit. Halfway towards Cornelius' door, however, he paused and glanced back at Nick and Morgan, both of whom had climbed in through the window by this point. Years of sneaking out of the palace in Agrabah had left him with a keen sense of how to not get caught doing something he shouldn't, and an idea took shape in his mind.

"If someone sees me coming back here with a bag, we're going to be busted," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Can one of you fly me down to my room? I can get my carpet and my stuff, and Neil can ride with me."

"I can take you," said Nick, nodding.

Gratefully, Ali waited until Nick was back out the window before climbing after. Glancing back to see Cornelius stuffing things into a bag and Morgan leaning awkwardly against a wall, he waved before reaching out to hook an arm around Nick's shoulders. A second later, there was nothing under him but air, and Nick grunted at his weight before adjusting slightly and beginning the descent to the room two floors below Cornelius'.

"So," asked Ali, determinedly not looking down. Nick's manner of flying was very different than using a magic carpet, and he wasn't quite sure he liked it all that much. "How've you been?"

"Good," replied Nick, rolling his eyes. "Surprised to see you here, though."

"What can I say?" asked Ali as they reached the window. Reaching out to push it open, he breathed a sigh of relief as Nick shoved him through and he felt solid ground beneath his feet. As Nick climbed in after him and shut the window, he added, "I needed a change of scenery after going through some things."

Nick nodded but didn't prod, for which Ali was grateful. Not that he didn't like the Prince of Arendelle, but the truth was that they simply weren't that close. Nick didn't do well in the desert and Ali didn't do well in the frozen lands of Arendelle, so they rarely met save for when they both visited other countries at the same time. The last time they'd met, in fact, had been in Agrabah, and Nick had spent his visit doing two things, Ali knew: Dying from the heat and crushing on him.

And, the one time Ali had been to Arendelle, he'd been very young and had spent the entire trip huddled under as many layers of clothes and blankets as he could find, and he'd befriended Sigrun and Aquaria… because, to be honest, Nick had been, well, an annoying child who never shut up.

As he packed, he was grateful that he hadn't yet unpacked all that much, mostly because the clothes he'd packed for the trip to Corona were not suited for the winter. His open vests and harem pants were perfect for Agrabah, as were his lack of shoes, but in Corona… he was certain he'd have frozen on the first night had Cornelius not leant him a few pieces of more practical attire before dragging him into town the next day.

"So… you just going to stand there silently while I pack?" asked Ali, finding the silence a bit disconcerting as he strapped his whip to his hip and buckled on his knife belt.

"How's the weather?" asked Nick.

Ali chuckled before letting out a soft whistle. As Carpet flew out from under his bed and waited patiently for him to climb on, he glanced at Nick, deciding how best to break the ice. Given that they were going to all go on a potentially fatal adventure together, it would be best if Nick mellowed to him a little.

Frowning, an idea came to mind.

"So, I'm going to change into something I'm more comfortable fighting in," he said. "Do you need to leave the room or are you over your crush on me?" Looking over his shoulder at Nick, he grinned, making it clear that he was joking.

Nick laughed, rolling his eyes, and just like that, the tension was gone.

"You knew about that?" he asked, bringing a hand to his face as he laughed. "Godmother, that's mortifying. Still, go ahead. We're cool."

Five minutes later, the conversation was flowing smoothly as Ali climbed onto his carpet and flew out the window, followed by Nick. Pausing at Cornelius' room to allow him to get onto the carpet and let Morgan join Nick in the air, the four of them took off into the air, flying through the night in the direction of Corona.

* * *

"Your Majesty, you have a visitor."

Elsa glanced up from her desk, frowning at the Aquitanian soldier standing in the entrance of her tent. Having pushed out from Red Lotus Harbour at the beginning of the week, they were deep in enemy territory, and the number of visitors who would warrant an announcement was zero. If Ariel had need of her, she'd have barged in regardless, and if Princess Sigrun had reached their position, then she'd have heard the roar of dragons long before the soldier could have reached her.

"Who?" she asked, rising from her chair and smoothing out her skirts.

"Me," said a familiar voice, and her heart all but leapt out of her chest as Jack stuck his head into the tent. Tapping the soldier on the shoulder, he grinned. "See, I told you she knew who I was."

"Jack, leave the poor man alone," she scolded, though she was unable to hide her smile at her husband's antics, "He's just doing his job. You are dismissed, Gregory. My husband and I would like some time alone."

"King Arnaldalr," the soldier spluttered, eyes widening. "My apologies, your majesty, I had no idea." Bowing low, he hurriedly fled.

Jack chuckled as he walked into the tent. "Twitchy fellow, isn't he? I wonder how long it'll take him to figure out I'm not a king."

Rolling her eyes, she pulled him into a tight embrace, pressing her lips to his. Eagerly, he returned it, his hands falling to her waist as he lifted her off her feet, spinning her around him before settling down on the desk with her on his lap. Wincing, he tapped the desk and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Ice, Elsa? Really?"

"It's easier to furnish my tent myself as opposed to having my soldiers lug a bunch of furniture along with them," she replied, running a finger along his jaw. "How are you here? It's not the solstice."

"Ol' Moony's decree is binding, but a chance meeting whilst we do our duties is something neither of us could forsee or prevent," said Jack, a twinkle in his eye. "I was in the area and I think I can squeeze in an hour or two before having to leave."

"The area?" she asked in disbelief. Her husband was often in the area, even in Arendelle, but the rules were clear. Unless it was the Winter Solstice, then he could not be with either her or Nick, and even her husband wasn't mischievous enough to disobey the Man in the Moon.

"Bunnymund and I were assisting Toothiana in defending Punjam Hy Loo from an army of Hollow Ones and Nightmares," he replied, and despite his smile, she could see how his demeanour changed had changed in an instant. "I can't give you an exact location, sorry, but it's quite close to the southern border of the Imperium. After we broke the siege, I decided to hunt down the last of the beasts and well, here I am, having stumbled across your camp, completely by accident."

Punjam Hy Loo… A chill ran down Elsa's spine at the news that the Tooth Fairy's palace had been besieged, and by the sound of things, the attack had come at the same time as the assault upon the Imperium. But, the truth of the matter was that the Hollow Ones were not what had her on edge. Instead, it was the mention of the beasts assisting them, creatures that in all the history of this world had only served one master.

"Nightmares?" Elsa frowned, not liking the mention of the infernal horses one bit. "You don't think… Jack, you said that the Guardians put him down years ago."

"We did, but the Nightmares didn't stop existing," said Jack, frowning. "We're looking into it, but whatever it is that's got them to come out of the shadows has Pan worried, and you know that Peter isn't the type to worry."

"No," she said, climbing off his lap and beginning to pace the room. "Pan does many things, but he doesn't worry. Jack, if Pitch is back..."

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," replied Jack, though his voice betrayed the tension he tried to keep concealed. "If he is… well, love, I put him down last time, and I'll do it again if I have too."

She fell silent, wringing her hands, her anxiety spiking. There were villains in this world, and she had faced those before, but Pitch Black was the very antithesis to Tsar Luna. It was impossible to say who had come first, but all agreed that they had both been there at the beginning. Oh, dear Godmother… if Pitch was back, if he was behind the Hollow Ones… Her hopes of an easy war and a quick return home all but vanished, but there something else that nagged at her, clawing at her like a ferocious beast.

The one thing Pitch wanted but had never been able to obtain, however, was a Guardian of his own. He had tried, long ago, according to her husband, to turn Jack from the light during his darkest hour and failed, and she doubted Pitch would be able to turn any of the existing Guardians: The Godmother, Pan, Santa, Bunnymund, Toothiana, Sandy, or her husband.

"Elsa," said Jack, reaching out to grasp her wrist and pull her into his arms. "Breathe. Nick can take care of himself pretty well, as we both know. He took care of Renata Queen without breaking a sweat, and from what I've heard, she's quite formidable."

She paused and frowned at him.

"Renata Queen? Jack, when—"

"You don't know?" Jack asked, his eyes widening. Facepalming, he sighed. "Of course you don't. Anna would have sent word, but it likely hasn't reached you yet."

"A week or two ago, the castle of Arendelle was infiltrated," he began, and she sucked in a breath. By the time he was done with the story, she was shaking.

Nick… they'd been in his bedroom… there'd been a knife to his throat. In that moment, a part of her wanted nothing more than to abandon the war in the Imperium and return home at once. She'd force her frost into Renata's heart, and she'd watch the woman freeze with a smile on her face. And, she'd make sure her son was okay…

Dear Godmother, she'd been gone for just a few weeks and, yet, things were already going wrong back home. Jack assured her that nobody had been hurt during the attack, but even surviving something like that left marks in places that the eye couldn't see. She'd felt it herself when The Southern Isle Princes had made an attempt on her life, and it had taken her a very long time to feel safe within her own home after the incident.

"Elsa, breathe," said Jack. "I know… it's not a situation I'd want him in either, but he did well. He's tough, even if he doesn't show it."

"I know he is," she said, sighing. "But, it doesn't matter how old he gets, he's always going to be my baby, and I'm always going to worry."

He hugged her, nuzzling at her neck, and she relaxed, if only a little. Her husband had always been able to comfort her, no matter how troubled she was. And, even when she wasn't speaking out loud, when she let her worries run rampant in her mind, he never failed to interrupt her worrying and remind her to breathe.

"Imagine how I feel?" asked Jack, sighing into her hair. "I get to see him once a year, and even if I keep an eye on him… kids grow up so fast, don't they? I have to look twice whenever I visit because I can't believe my son looks older than I do these days."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You know how much I wish things were different."

"It's nobody's fault," he said. "And, at least I get to see him and be a dad when we're together. He's happy. He's healthy. What more can I ask for?"

"Jack…" Cupping his cheek, she pressed her lips to his brow, letting the rest remain unsaid. He didn't need to hear it, because after all these years together, the kiss was enough. He leaned into her, the tension slipping from her shoulders, and for just a moment, she let everything but him fall away. For just a second in time, she let herself believe she was the young girl who'd once fallen in love with the winter storm.

Then, the moment was gone, and the harsh reality came rushing back. Closing her eyes, she refused to break the hug, and they simply stood there, leaning against her desk in silence, enjoying a respite from their worries.

"Nick turns seventeen in a few months," said Jack after what felt like an age, a wistful smile flickering across his face. "I think it's time you gave him what I left him on the day he was born."

"Are you sure?" she asked, pulling away so that she could look him in the eye.

"Ideally, I'd have preferred to have waited, but I'm not going to lie, Elsa, the situation has changed drastically. If the enemy, whomever or whatever it is, is capable of besieging Punjam Hy Loo, then the time may soon come when our son will need to protect himself, and I would sleep easier knowing he had something stronger than his staff when that day comes."

"It won't come to that," she protested.

"It's always better to be prepared, love," he said, smiling and leaning in so his forehead brushed against hers. "I learned that much from you over the years."

* * *

The low growls of the monsters echoing in his ears, Christopher scrambled along the thick branch, his hands scraped raw by the rough bark. His shirt had been ripped and tied to his waist to form a makeshift satchel, and Pooh was huddled within, using his own plush body to cushion Chip from cracking. It was not the best solution, not by a long shot, but Christopher was out of options.

The monsters had entered the woods two days ago, and with his feet so torn up by thorns, outrunning them had been a fool's dream. Instead, he'd climbed up the nearest tree, and it had been a painful experience so far. Having never climbed a tree in his life, he'd already fallen twice, and his body ached as he jumped from bough to bough, flinching at every fresh scrape and cut.

The leaves tickled his face as he shoved his way through the thick foliage, the twigs scratching at his skin, and he bit his lip as he considered the next jump. If he crawled any further, the branch would break; it was too thin near the end to bear his weight, but the nearest tree was further away than any of the jumps he'd had to make that morning. Biting his lip as another growl tore through the woods, this one closer than the last, he carefully stood up and jumped.

For the longest moment there was nothing beneath him, and then he hit the next branch with his chest. The wind knocked out of him, he quickly wrapped his arms around the branch, kicking out with his legs to gain some momentum and propel himself up onto it. Gasping for breath, he finally dragged himself up and groaned.

"You okay, kid?" asked Chip.

"Fine," Christopher grunted, checking the satchel to make sure his companions were both fine.

Pooh was silent, shivering in the satchel, and Christopher let out a sigh. Their trek through the woods had been hard on the bear, and after they'd come face-to-face with the last monster, a hulking creature with four arms and three eyes that was twice Christopher's height, Pooh had simply fallen silent altogether. At the very least he was still functional enough to make sure Chip was cushioned, but there was no denying that his teddy would likely need therapy once they'd gotten out of this mess.

"You know this place?" he asked, pulling Chip out of the satchel and letting the cup look around the woods. "I think we're still going west like you said."

"Not really," said Chip. "I know Amoré decently, like I said, but the woods aren't really my forté. But, if you did keep west, then there should be a ravine nearby. We follow that until we find the bridge that gets us to Bosquet."

"No towns," said Christopher hurriedly, frowning at the cup. "Who knows how many of those things are in there?"

"It's more a village really," said Chip. "But, it's the closest way out of here, because the main road to Corona runs through it. And, I can get our bearings better there. My mother lived in Bosquet with my brother and his wife after she retired, and I visited her quite often so I know the place well enough."

"You never mentioned a brother," said Christopher, straddling the branch and leaning back against the trunk. He needed to catch his breath, and a bit of quiet conversation might make the time go faster. As much as he hated it, he couldn't deny the wisdom in Chip's idea. The monsters were in the woods as well, so it wasn't as though a village would be that much more dangerous… at least, that was what he hoped.

"Seven brothers, four sisters," said Chip, his tinny voice sounding a touch strained as he spoke. "Twelve of us in all, a full tea set. Three of them worked in the castle with me, the rest went off to do their own thing." He sighed.

"The castle? Chip…"

"Likely dead now, I know, but what can you do?" said Chip, and his voice cracked despite the nonchalance of his words. "The rest? Look around us, kid. We've been running for a week and haven't crossed paths with anything other than those monsters. I'm probably the last Potts left."

"I'm sorry," said Christopher. "Words don't mean much, I know, but that's all I can give right now."

"You're keeping me alive, aren't you?" Chip sighed. "That's good enough."

The cup fell silent and Christopher tucked him back into the satchel before squeezing Pooh's paw. His bear shuddered and returned the squeeze, but remained silent all the same, and Christopher closed his eyes as he gathered himself, preparing for the next burst through the canopy. It was safer up here than it was down there, but the going was much harder, and he'd been forced to abandon his sword. Without a sheath, it would have been stupid to try and take it with him, because one accident while climbing or jumping and he'd probably cut off his leg.

There was a loud thump and the tree shook. Christopher nearly tumbled out before catching himself on the branch, and his heart sank as he looked down. There were two monsters at the base of the trunk, leering up at him with yellowed eyes and beating on the bark with their doughy fists.

Glancing about, he scrambled across the branch on his hands and knees, holding on as tightly as he could whilst the tree shuddered beneath him. A faint crack echoed in his ears, and he knew that if the monsters kept this up, the tree would come down, bringing him with it. Reaching the end of the tree, he leapt, but as he grasped onto the next branch, it snapped.

 _Godmother, have mercy_ , he grunted as he hit the ground and rolled out of the way of the falling branch. Glancing behind him, he saw the monsters slowly turn, their leers turning to grins, and he was on his feet as quickly as he could. Eyes watering and head spinning, he started to run.

Every step sent a jolt of agony through his feet, and he was more limping than running. Pooh was sobbing in the satchel, and Chip was cursing in Amoreán, but all Christopher could hear was the loud roars of the monsters as they gained on him, and the thuds of their footfalls. More growls and roars filled the air as other monsters appeared out of the woods, drawn by the noise, and with the greatest effort he had ever taken, Christopher pushed himself to pick up his speed.

Then, just like that, the treeline ended and he stumbled at the edge of a ravine, windmilling his arms to keep up from tipping over. It was deep, but there was a large lake at the bottom, but he wasn't sure how deep it was, and as he glanced around, he saw that there was no bridge in sight.

Behind him, the first monster roared as it burst through the treeline.

"Hold on," Christopher yelled, clamping one hand on the satchel to keep it from coming loose. Then, without looking back, he jumped.

* * *

Maleficent slumped in her cell, her manacles loose around her throat, ankles, and wrist. A single movement on her part would shake them off, but she had kept them in place nonetheless. It would do her no good to escape the dungeon only to be caught as soon as left, and despite her formidable power, she was not so vain as to ignore the fact that her weeks in the dungeon coupled with the copious amounts of iron in the air had left her weakened.

No, she would need both assistance and the right opportunity. Fortune had provided her with Snow White, who despite being rather useless in Maleficent's opinion, would do well enough. However, opportunity was yet to present itself… yet, judging by the sounds coming down the stairs, it was about to.

She smirked as Cruella stumbled into her cell, her mascara running down her cheeks. She stank of gin and desperation, and to be honest, Maleficent had never quite seen the other woman look so unhinged.

"You have much to answer for," slurred Cruella, stumbling across the cell, leaving the cell door opened behind her. "Your brat killed my sweet child!"

"Oh?" asked Maleficent, pride blooming in her chest. "Which one?"

"The good one," snarled Cruella. "My beautiful Dominique. My beloved Damon is beside himself now that the love of his young life has been so cruelly taken from him. He's had to return to our Chateau to heal, and the wounds… your filthy brat burned him… His beautiful chest… it will take months to heal, and even longer to find skin perfect enough to graft over and replace the damage. I will kill you for this, Maleficent! I will wear your wings as a cape!"

Pulling back her leg, she kicked out, catching Maleficent in the gut. As she did so, Maleficent struck, shaking off her chains and rolling out of the way.

Cruella yelped in alarm, but it was far too late for her. Maleficent rose up, grasping the woman by the collar and flinging her out of the cell, grunting from the exertion. The weeks in the dark had left her weaker than she'd anticipated, but what she had was enough. Cruella slammed into the opposite cell, and as she did so, Snow White lunged.

Reaching through the bars to hook her arm around Cruella's throat, she pinned the crazed woman to the bars, tightening her grasp until Cruella was gasping for breath. Slowly, carefully, Maleficent walked out of her cell, eager to work the stiffness out of her limbs as she did so.

"Bitch," spat Cruella, rolling her eyes.

"True," said Maleficent, shrugging as she reached with both hands and placed them on Cruella's temples. "But a very angry, very hungry bitch all the same."

With that, she pressed her thumbs into Cruella's eyes, her smirk deepening as the woman howled in agony. Blood and aqueous matter ran down her fingers as she shoved them in deeper, letting her nails extend into claws. Opening her mouth, she sucked in a deep breath, her eyes gleaming green as her magic took hold. The life energy is Cruella was warped and bitter, but as she sucked it in through her mouth, she realized that it would do. The energy was warm as it ran through her, healing the burns and fixing the stiffness and weakness in her limbs. Finally, only when Cruella had become nothing more than a withered husk did she pull away and let Snow White release her grip.

"Very good, Snow White," she said, nodding at the other woman. "I had my doubts, but you did quite nicely."

"All I did was hold her in place," snorted Snow. "I don't see why you needed me to watch that disgusting show."

"My dear, had you not done so, Cruella would have locked the door and doubled the iron in the air before I could so much as hobble across my cell. Granted, my plan had some flaws, but it was the best thing I could come up with on an empty stomach. Now, a deal is a deal, so stand aside."

Snow White moved to the back of the cell as Maleficent reached out and closed her hands around the bars. Steel, she realized. Her eyes gleamed, her fingers glowing with green light as she yanked, and with a terrifyingly loud crash, she ripped the bars from the hinges.

Warily, Snow White staggered out of the cell, looking her up and down. Good, the little thing wasn't hurt. There was still Grimhilde Keep to escape, and who knew who else had taken up residence in the place since her imprisonment. Dominique was dead, Damon was away, and Cruella had just been disposed off, but as Maleficent led the way up the stairs, she paused, sniffing the air.

"Ursula," she muttered. "Gothel as well." That would make things more difficult, considering she was in no state to fight the two witches. Gothel, she could handle well enough, but Ursula was almost as powerful as she was, and given her incarceration… No, it would not do to let a fight break out until she was ready.

"How do we get out?" asked Snow White, frowning at the mention of the names.

"We fly," said Maleficent, thrusting out a hand. The walls heaved under the burst of light that escaped her fingers, brick shattering like glass until a wide hole had appeared in the side. Leaping through, she transformed in midair, letting out a roar of relief upon taking her true form. The iron was already pouring out of her skin, burned away by her draconic blood, and the flames were healing her, caressing what was left of her injuries as they faded.

Beating her wings, she reached out and grasped Snow White in her front paw. If the woman thought Maleficent would allow her to ride upon her back, then she was quite mistaken. Help was one thing, and a deal was a deal, but allowing Snow White to escape with her in exchange for assistance in the breakout itself was all that had been decided.

Besides, she thought, flapping her wings as she climbed into the sky, delighting in the terrified screams coming from Snow, the woman might come in handy… even if just as a meat shield.


	20. Amoré

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

 **Amoré**

* * *

The Godmother could not remember the last time Tsar Luna had called for a Conclave of the Guardians. Typically, whenever a nasty situation reared its ugly head, he would simply invite one, sometimes two, of them over for tea before briefing them on their assignments. To call the seven of them together under his roof… that simply was not done.

Never had there been a situation which required the direct intervention of all of them, and it worried her more than she would let on.

Per usual, Tsar Luna looked distinctly unperturbed in his high-backed chair at the head of the long table. His monocle glinted in the firelight, his cane remained at his side as it always did, and there was not so much as a crease on his suit. Still, he was worried, she knew, or he would not have summoned them.

"Why are we here, Moony?" asked Jackson, glancing up from his frozen chair. "I'm sure we'd all dearly like to know."

"Do you have somewhere else to be?" asked Tsar Nicholas in his thick accent, stroking at his bushy white beard.

"As it turns out, I do," interjected Toothiana, rolling her eyes. "Unlike you, some of us have duties that keep us busy for more than just one night of the year."

The Godmother frowned, already knowing the argument that was coming. Jackson and Toothiana would point out that their roles in the grand scheme of things never ceased, and Bunnymund would side with Tsar Nicholas, both of whom only had one day of work a year. Sanderson would remain silent as he always did, rolling his eyes at both sides. The younger guardians were children in many ways, she knew, and despite their centuries, they could not be counted in the same vein as Pan or herself, not until they celebrated their first millennium.

Wordlessly, a stream of dreamsand snaked across the table as Sanderson interrupted the brewing argument, which caught her by surprise. It was rare for him to draw attention to himself. As all eyes turned to the short man seated in a chair of shifting sand, he pointed at Tsar Luna, who was surveying them with narrowed eyes.

"This," said Tsar Luna, and the Godmother fought the urge to wince at the severity in his usually stern yet oddly calming tone. "This is precisely why I have called the gathering. Do you truly not feel it, or are you content to bicker rather than confront the obvious?"

"You are Guardians," he continued, "Not squabbling tykes. Act the part or leave."

"Gee, Manny," said Pan, frowning. "What crawled up your arse and died?"

"What Pan means to say, my old friend," said the Godmother, casting a wary eye around the table to silence the rest of them, "Is that this is most unlike you."

"If that's what I wanted to say, I would have said it, Alice," said Pan, rolling his eyes. Turning to Tsar Luna, he added, "Yes, but that is the gist of what I meant."

"Pitch Black has returned."

Silence reigned through the room. Jaws dropped, eyes widened, and the Godmother leaned back in her chair. No… it could not be. Pitch was gone, his power broken by them centuries ago… Tsar Luna himself had sealed him away in the darkest recesses of space and time, in a place that even she feared to tread. He was gone. There was no way for him to return. Never. It simply couldn't be.

"Impossible," said Tsar Nicholas, echoing her thoughts. "Pitch Black is no more."

"I assure you that I do not jest about such matters," said Tsar Luna. "I have had my suspicions for a while now, but the recent attack on Punjam Hy Loo has given me the evidence I need. Nightmares follow none but him, and they would not have fought alongside the Hollow Ones unless in service to their master."

"Then we must confront him at once," said Bunnymund. "The longer he is allowed to prey on the world below, the weaker we will grow."

"Confront him where?" asked Toothiana. "Pitch is a master of the shadows. When we face him, it will be on his terms, the same as it was last time."

"That is not why I have called you here," said Tsar Luna, and the room fell silent once more. "Think about the wars being waged by the mortals below: the war in the Imperium, the fall of Amoré, the plagues that have befallen Agrabah... All of them. Surely I do not have to spell it out for you all?" Extending a hand, he pointed a narrow finger at Jackson.

"Jackson," he continued. "What happens to your power when there is no more fun to be had in the world?"

"I fade," replied Jack, his eyes widening. "Powerless and immortal, I'd just be a ghost who nobody can see."

"And you, Tsar Nicholas?" asked Tsar Luna, shifting his finger to point at the hoarish Guardian. "When the children lose their sense of wonder, when their hearts are dimmed by tragedy, what happens to you?"

"The same as Jack," Tsar Nicholas replied. "I fade."

"Your point has been made, Manny," said Pan as Tsar Luna turned to Sanderson. "Alice and I are the only two Guardians who draw our power from something other than belief; I draw mine from Neverland and she draws hers from you directly. It just means we need to confront Pitch immediately."

"No," said the Godmother, pursing her lips and glancing at the expression on Tsar Luna's face. "You intend to raise new Guardians… ones who, like Pan and I, draw their power from something other than belief."

"It was a mistake to do so in the first place," he said, breathing a weary sigh. "I considered it a check and balance, to ensure my Guardians would not go rogue, especially after seeing what you and Pan were capable off when riled. However, neither of you bore the world any anger, and you left no grudges behind when I raised you."

"But, the rest of you," he continued. "There was hatred in your hearts when I raised you, hatred against those who did you wrong in life. I forgave that, but I knew that when I gave you the power I did, I needed to ensure you would not misuse it. So, I bound your powers to something that would fade should you turn from my light. The belief of those you guard."

"Which is now biting you in the arse." Bunnymund snorted. "What grudges did we bring with us, pray tell, that warranted you putting these restrictions on us?"

"Please, spare us," the Godmother said, rolling her eyes. "Your earthly attachments clouded your judgement in those early years. Let me ask a very fair question. Bunnymund, what would you have done to see your beloved Esmeralda dance for you one more time? And you, Tsar Nicholas? What would you have done to avenge Anastasia? Jackson, if you held your son's life in one hand and the fate of the world in the other, but you had to abandon one, which would it be?"

"What kind of question is that?" asked Jackson. "We all know the answer."

"And therein lies the reasoning behind my decision," said Tsar Luna. "Love is the death of duty, and for a Guardian, the world must always come first. And, Jackson is not the only one of you who has a connection to the mortal world which clashed with your duties."

"Whatever your reasons, we trust them," said the Godmother, nodding. "On the subject of new Guardians, let me say my peace. I, Alice Liddel, the White Queen of Wonderland, she who is now known as the Godmother, Guardian of Wishes, say aye."

"I, Peter Pan, Lord of Neverland, he who is now known as Pan, Guardian of the Lost, say aye." Peter looked at her and nodded, and for once in his long life, he looked utterly and completely serious.

A whorl of sand appeared above Sanderson's head, swirling until it formed into a tick. Unable to speak, his Dreamsand was the only way in which he could communicate, but despite the informality of his aye, Tsar Luna simply nodded in acceptance.

"I, Shanti Toothiana, Queen of Punjam Hy Loo, she who is now known as the Tooth Fairy, Guardian of Memories, say aye."

"I, E. Aster Bunnymund, Lord of the Warren, he who is now known as the Easter Bunny, Guardian of Hope, say aye."

"I, Tsar Nicholas Alexandrovich Romanov, last Emperor of the Old Kingdom, Master of the North Pole, he who is now known as Santa Claus, Guardian of Wonder, say aye."

"I, Jackson Overland Frost, he who was _once_ known as Nightlight, Guardian of Fun, say aye."

"As it has been decided, so mote it be," said Tsar Luna, nodding around the table. "While I seek out potentials, the rest of you are to remain on high alert. Punjam Hy Loo, I fear, was just the beginning. If Pitch should reveal himself, do not confront him on your own. You are dismissed."

As they took their leave, the Godmother leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. There was much for her to consider, and even more for her to worry over. If Pitch was indeed back… no, this world could not go the same way as Wonderland. That she would not allow, not while there was still magic in her wand.

Finally, when the room was empty, save for Tsar Luna, Pan, and herself, she asked.

"Do you think they stand a chance?" she asked, pursing her lips, echoing the question she had asked Tsar Luna when the mortal council had first met.

"More to the point, how bad are things that we need another Guardian?" asked Pan, frowning. "There are seven of us, eight if you decide to grace the battlefield, Manny, and forgive me for saying, but even if I supported your motion, I have misgivings. It took Jack decades to learn to control his powers after you raised him the second time, and he actually had been a Guardian in a past life… I doubt that the girl you have in mind could aid us all that much."

"There is always a chance, Alice," said Tsar Luna, rising in his seat. "What matters is how slim that chance remains. And Peter, that chance grows slimmer by the day."

"A slim chance is still a chance," said Pan, "And _she_ hardly has shown the mettle for the role."

"She?" asked the Godmother, frowning. "I do believe I'm missing something."

"All I can ask is that you trust in my judgement, my friends," said Tsar Luna, raising a hand. "I have not steered you wrong so far."

The Godmother raised an eyebrow. Considering who the Guardians were, she had called Tsar Luna's judgement into account many times over the years. In life, she had been a madwoman. Pan had been a boy who, to this day, refused to grow up. Sanderson had been a puppet, for crying out loud, and Toothiana had lived in a jungle with no notion of how civilization worked. As for Bunnymund… his had been a soldier's end, dying for the dancer he loved on the steps of a grand cathedral, and Tsar Nicholas had, like her, been the last ruler of a kingdom fallen to ruin. Unlike her, he still had heirs, the descendants of his daughter, Anastasia, but raising him had been an unorthodox choice indeed.

But, despite it all… she trusted the Man in the Moon, and as she breathed a weary sigh, she realized that he was right. His choices were always odd ones, but he had not steered them wrong so far, not once in the thousands of years that she had served as his right hand.

* * *

Amoré was a verdant wasteland.

The ruined fishing village on the coast had been abandoned when they'd reached it, but wherever he looked, all Cornelius could see were signs of a great slaughter. Corpses had rotted in the dirty streets, and all that remained of the buildings were scorched wooden pillars and half-collapsed walls. The palisade had been smashed to kindling and the boats had been sunk, but of whomever or whatever it had been that attacked, there was no sign. They had dragged the corpses as far away from the village as they could, and Morgan's flames had given them what was the closest things to last rites that any of them could think off… but it still caused his heart to clench.

They were good, humble people. They deserved better than this.

"Alyssa's a fighter, Cor," said Nick, though Cornelius couldn't help but notice how forced his friend's optimism sounded. "She'll be fine and furious it took us this long to get her out of here."

"She's alive," he said, nodding, because if the alternative was true, he knew that he'd have felt it. He didn't know how or why, but something in him knew that his wife was still alive somewhere in this ruined kingdom, likely fighting for her life, bruised and battered, but still alive.

"She's alive," he repeated. "She has to be."

From where his certainty came from, he wasn't quite sure, but there was another voice in the back of his mind, a dark whisper which echoed through his head whenever he stopped moving. What if his optimism came from the inability to accept the alternative? What if…

No, he refused to believe that. As ghastly as the situation seemed, he had to believe that she was still alive.

"We know, Neil, we know," said Ali. "We wouldn't be here would you if we didn't."

"But, right now, we're in hostile territory and it's getting dark," said Morgan. "Now, you three probably haven't had to rough it before, so I'll just come out and say it. It's suicide to go wandering around in the dark."

"We have to go _now_ ," snapped Cornelius, his temper flaring at the other teenager's insinuation. "Alyssa needs our help now, and if you're too afraid of the dark, then you can stay here. I'm going."

"No, you're not," said Nick, narrowing his eyes. "Even if I have to freeze you in place, you're staying with us for the night. You're no good to her dead, Cor."

"Nick, you don't g—"

"Neil, we all care about Alyssa," interrupted Ali, laying a hand on his shoulder. "But Morgan's right on this one. We have no idea what's going on and look around? Whatever did this to this village is clearly not something we want to run into in the dark, and besides, we've been flying for hours. We need to rest, we need to eat, and we need to think."

Cornelius glared at the three of them. They were making sense, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Finally, he slumped to the ground and crossed his legs, leaning against the remains of what must have once been a trough. He sunk slightly in the somewhat damp sand, and he pursed his lips.

"Fine." He folded his arms. "We leave first thing in the morning."

Nick rolled his eyes before turning away, raising his staff into the air. Tendrils of frost burst forth, swirling around the village until it ran along the perimeter. Briefly, his eyes flared, and a second later, the frost took shape, rising to form a twelve-foot wall of ice. A second wave of his staff caused icicles to spring from the wall, and as he turned back, he smirked.

"There, protection sorted."

"Show off," said Ali, who had been gathering wood from the wreckage. Piling it near Cornelius, he stood up and dusted off his hands. Despite the chill coast air, he was dressed in typical attire, and he shivered as he reached into his bag. "Might take a while to get a spark. The wood's a bit damp."

"Leave that to me," said Morgan, kneeling beside the pile of wood. A plume of flame escaped his lips, and within seconds, the fire was crackling in front of him. Getting to his feet, he winked. "He brings the ice. I bring the fire. We're a good team that way."

Nick snorted as he slung a hand around Morgan's shoulders. "Come with me to check the perimeter?" he asked.

"Sure," Morgan replied, and within seconds his wings had slid out of the holes in his shirt.

The two of them took off into the sky, still holding hands, and Cornelius fought to repress the jealousy that sparked through him at the sight. He was happy for them, he was… but, even if it killed him to admit it, he was jealous that Nick and Morgan were still together whilst Alyssa and he were so far apart, with the faint probability that they'd never see each other again. He swallowed. Even as the thought came to mind, he felt guilty. He should be utterly and wholly happy for them… he really should. After all, how many people had friends who would follow them into what was rapidly looking like hell.

"It's okay to feel what you're feeling, Neil," said Ali, sitting cross-legged beside the fire and warming his hands. "I miss Aquaria as well. I mean, sure, it's not the same as you and Alyssa, but it's still hard to see another couple be happy, you know?"

"How'd you know?" asked Cornelius, frowning.

"It's written all over your face," said Ali, reaching into a bag and extricating some of the food supplies they'd purchased on the outskirts of Corona. "So, how are you holding up?"

"As good as I can be, all things considered," he replied with a sigh. "What're you making?"

"The fish we got," Ali replied. "I'm not much of a chef, but might as well fry it now. Nick can't keep it on ice forever."

Cornelius nodded, turning away. Even with the fire, the ruined village was still dark and shadowy, and it was almost unsettling. Cupping his hands together, he guided his light out his palms, nurturing it into a miniature sun. Something thudded in his temple, and he winced. Slowly, he coaxed the orb of light into the air, letting it float just above him, and the difference was immediate. The shadows were dispelled, and he felt himself lighten, if only a little. His mother had always said that no matter how dark things got, it was always important to let in the light, and she was right.

"That's a neat trick," said Ali, glancing at the orb as he scaled a fish with one of his daggers. "Makes me wish I had some magic of my own."

Unsure of how to respond, Cornelius leaned back against the trough, closing his eyes as the smell of sizzling fish filled the air. He was more tired than he'd realized, he thought as he fought off the urge to doze off, pinching himself to stay awake. At the very least, he needed to eat first. For the first time in ages, he'd actually had a bit of difficulty working his light, and that told him something.

The others were right. If he was to rescue Alyssa, he couldn't be a half-cocked mess. He needed to be utterly and completely on his game.

* * *

For years, Nick had hated the very idea of flying. It had been an embarrassment and constant source of humiliation during his transition from boy to man, but somehow, when Morgan was at his side, it didn't feel so bad. It would never be fun, he knew, or something he did recreationally… but perhaps he could get used to this in time. Had the circumstances been different, had they both been home in Arendelle, he thought he'd quite fancy going for a romantic flight over the tundra with his boyfriend.

Now, however, he had other concerns. Amoré, he'd quickly realized, was in a worse position than he'd originally thought. The fishing village had confirmed as much, because it was quite out of the ordinary for a hostile force to destroy something so harmless, especially when the peasants could be useful to the new regime. Instead, it seemed as though the attackers had taken a scorched earth policy, and that was something that troubled him greatly.

Men… he could fight those well enough. But beasts who wore human skin? They unnerved him. Of course, the thought had crossed his mind that whatever had attacked Amoré could very possibly not be human at all, but he was trying not to think about that too much. The odds that the Hollow Ones had struck at both the Imperium and Amoré, countries on opposite sides of the known world, at nearly the same time… that implied that there was a very skilled mastermind behind the scenes.

No, he couldn't let his imagination run away with him. For all he knew, it was simply a curse that had done this, or mercenaries conscripted from the unknown continents to the west.

Flying over the deserted beach, Nick quickly realized that there was little of interest in the near vicinity. It was evident that every part of the kingdom that the eye could see had been wrecked in much the same way as the village, but what concerned him was that he could not even make out an animal in the gloom. Even for a populated place, there should be birds roosting in the trees and small animals, such as hares, in the underbrush.

Knowing that Morgan's eyes were better than his, he turned to his boyfriend and shared his concerns. Morgan grew tense, his eyes flickering as they shifted into their draconic form, and he scanned the surrounding area.

"Nothing," he said warily. "You're right. It's really odd."

"Suspicious, really," said Nick. "What about what caused the damage to the village? Any sign of them?"

"No," said Morgan. He looked around again, his gaze flickering from the woods to the right all the way to the river on the left. He paused, pursing his lips. "There's someone there," he added, pointing to the shores of the river. "Not moving, could be dead, but there's something."

Nodding, Nick began floating towards the river, taking care to stay up as high as he could whilst still being able to see the ground below him. The danger of the situation was not lost on him, but unless whatever it was that had caused the destruction could reach him in the sky, he was safe enough. Still, he kept a tight grasp on his staff, letting his frost swirl around the top. If something attacked, he'd be ready for it.

Morgan followed close behind him, and with a whisper, his sword appeared in his grasp. Glancing at it, Nick couldn't help but admire the weapon. The blade was sleek and white as bone, and it gleamed despite the darkness. Still, it wasn't metal… or if it was, it certainly wasn't any type of metal he'd ever seen before.

As they neared the river, he asked, "So, what exactly is that sword made off?"

Morgan chuckled, running a sheepish hand through his hair. "My mother's fang Yes, I know that sounds weird, but it can cut through anything, and the blade never loses its venom, so I don't need to recoat it all the time. Besides..." he trailed off, shifting awkwardly.

"Besides what?" asked Nick, genuinely curious. "Is it a sentimental thing. I totally understand that, to be honest. My dad made me my staff from a tree in Neverland. The wood's magical and can't break, no matter how much force I put on it."

"It's not that," said Morgan, frowning at something he'd said. "It's just that my mother's magic is infused into the sword, so I can draw on it if I need an extra burst of energy for a spell. But, there's a limit on how much I can take. It's like… it's like a cup filled with water, but once I drink it all, I can't refill it."

Nick nodded, not understanding exactly what it was that made Morgan awkward about his sword having such a feature. Shelving the thought, however, he looked down to realize that they had reached the river. From this distance, he couldn't make out much, but there was definitely a person on the shore of the river. Nudging Morgan, he gestured at the body.

"He's breathing," said Morgan. "Hard to tell, but his chest is moving."

That was all Nick needed to go. Keeping up his guard, he began to descend. Hesitantly, Morgan followed him, but his boyfriend was keeping a wary eye on his surroundings, and there was a lot of suspicion in his face. Halfway down, however, Nick's eyes widened as a jolt of recognition ran through him.

 _No. It couldn't be…. Could it? How?_ A dozen questions ran through Nick's mind, but his disbelief couldn't argue with the truth. It had been years since last he'd met the person below him, but there were people who tended to stand out in a crowd, and the prince below them was one such person.

"Morgan," he said, his voice barely higher than a whisper. "That's Christopher Charming. The Crown Prince of Renvale."

"You sure?" asked Morgan, squinting down in suspicion as the landed. "This could be a trap."

Regardless of his boyfriend's skepticism, Nick immediately dropped to his knees and checked for a pulse. Pressing two fingers to Christopher's neck, he sighed in relief as he found one. Though unconscious, he quickly took stock of the prince. He had certainly seen better days, that much was clear. His skin was clammy to the touch, covered in scrapes and bruises, and for some reason, his shirt had been tied around his waist. Glancing down, Nick winced at the sight of the prince's feet, which looked completely shredded, as though he'd just spent a few days running over broken glass without shoes on.

Then, the satchel _moved_ and a sodden teddy bear's head appeared out of it. Peering at them, the bear looked completely terrified, and then it squinted at him and let out a sharp yelp of excitement.

"Prince Nicholas!" said the bear. "Is it really you?"

"Hello Pooh," said Nick, smiling at the bear. Glancing up at his boyfriend, he nodded. "Yeah, Morgan, I'm sure it's him."

* * *

When Christopher opened his eyes, the world around him was blurry, and he was dimly aware that he was lying on something soft and far too comfortable to be the ground. Gingerly, he reached out, confusion filling his head as he grasped a handful of sand. Blinking, he tried to sit up, and the slight effort caused black spots to dance across his vision. He groaned, slumping back into what he realized was a bedroll of some sort. He was under a blanket as well, he noticed, and he'd been stripped to his underwear underneath it.

The first thought that ran through his mind was that he'd been found and rescued, because the last thing he could recall was landing in the swirling waters at the bottom of the ravine and desperately trying to keep his head above water. Someone must have saved him, but who? Not all rescuers had good intentions, he knew that much, and it was very likely that he'd simply escaped the frying pan to find himself in the fire.

"You're awake," said a vaguely familiar voice, and he turned his head, seeking out the speaker. A jolt of surprise ran through him, and he had the distinct urge to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Prince Ali?" he asked, squinting. "What're…" He trailed off, his throat aching.

It had been years since he'd last met the other prince, and if he remembered correctly, Ali had tormented him relentlessly about his toys for the duration of his stay in Renvale. It had been disheartening, to be honest. The idea of another prince, so close to his own age, coming to stay at his castle whilst their parents discussed business had been something he'd been eagerly looking forward too, hoping to finally make a proper friend. But, Ali had been wild and mean, and well, a bit of a bully.

Still, in this moment, had his throat not been dry as a bone, he'd be screaming in elation.

"I could ask you the same question," said Ali, reaching down. He lifted Christopher's head, his touch more gentle than Christopher would have expected, and raised a waterskin to his lips. Gratefully, Christopher drank, breathing out a sigh as the cool water ran down his throat, easing the dull burn of thirst that had been coursing through his body.

Almost immediately, the aching in his head began to let up, and he nodded his thanks.

"Supposed to marry Princess Alyssa. Not my choice. Forced to be here," he managed to get out before slouching back down, breathing heavily. "Monsters in the woods." Another jolt shot through him, and he looked around, feeling for the satchel at his waist. Not finding it, he panicked.

"Relax," said Ali. "Your teddy's still drying off beside the fire, and Chip's talking to Cornelius."

Relief surged through him. Pooh was safe. Chip was safe. He was safe. For the moment, at the very least. He'd done it. Somehow, he'd managed to keep the three of them alive long enough to be rescued from the hell that Amoré had become. Then, as the relief died down, he frowned.

"Prince Cornelius is here?" he asked. "Corona _and_ Agrabah sent their heirs to aid the relief effort?"

"Not exactly," said Ali, shrugging. "Corona, Arendelle, and Agrabah had their heirs play truant and run off in the dead of night to rescue Alyssa Rose. To be honest, we didn't even know you were here."

Prince Nicholas as well, thought Christopher. His frown deepened. This was incredibly unorthodox, especially considering that if he remembered right, Cornelius and Nicholas were both still rather young. It was not surprising, if he was being honest with himself, that these three kingdoms in particular would have ridden to Amoré's aid… but that the heirs had come alone… that was very unusual indeed.

"I knew," said another voice, and cracking his head to the side, Christopher saw Prince Cornelius approaching his makeshift bedside. "I'm afraid I have an apology to make in that regard, Christopher. You didn't even cross my mind until Nick and Morgan found you. Had I realized earl—"

"Prince Cornelius," he interrupted, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "I'm not an idiot. You came for Alyssa. I understand. She's your wife. She's their friend. I'm none of those things. After the fortnight I've had, I'm not in the mood to be lied to."

"He's got you there, Neil," said Ali, nudging Cornelius in the shin. An apologetic look on his face, he turned out to Christopher. "For what it's worth, I was wrong about you all those years ago. Pampered, delusional pretty-boys don't survive what you survived."

Getting to his feet, he wandered off, and Christopher snorted. It wasn't the worst thing he'd heard in his life and coming from Prince Ali… well, it might just be one of the best compliments that had ever been paid to him. Glancing at Prince Cornelius, he reached out, grasping the prince by the knee and pulling himself up into a sitting position. The world spun around him and he closed his eyes, letting the dizzy spell pass before opening them again.

Crossing his legs under him for better balance, he ignored the growling in his stomach and looked around. He was in a ruined village, but it was evident by the wall of ice and the floating orb of light that it had been turned into a sort of base of operations. A twinge of worry nagged at him. He had assumed that everything was fine, but it was quickly becoming clear that the rescue party included only the three princes and whoever this Morgan fellow was that Ali had mentioned.

Nick was asleep beside the fire, he realized, spotting the prince's trademark shock of white hair, and there was another person right behind him, all but sharing his bedroll. That must be Morgan, he realized. Ali was sitting beside the fire, stirring something in a pan, and his heart leapt at the sight of Pooh, eyes closed and steaming as he dried off.

"It's not the rescue you expected, I take it?" asked Cornelius, sitting down beside him. "In your shoes, I'd have expected my entire kingdom to have barged in by now."

"Renvale would be glad to be rid of me." Christopher snorted. "I wasn't expecting a rescue at all. I'm grateful, and I'm sorry I'm not really showing it, but to be honest, I fully expected to have to get out on my own."

"You're their prince and they'd want to be rid of you?" asked Cornelius, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you're being a bit dramatic?"

"The four of you are here for Alyssa, implying that you've at least received word of Amoré current state, and I'm assuming you're here alone because you couldn't currently spare the troops at present? Look around and tell me if you can see a Renvalian flag?"

"That doesn't mean they're not on their way. I'm sure your family is worried."

"Alyssa didn't tell you how I got here?" Christopher raised an eyebrow, shivering as he wrapped the blanket around himself. "My mother had her people knock me unconscious and then shipped me to Amoré whilst drugged out on sleeping potions. They were glad to see the back of me and get me out of the line of succession. Clear the pathway for my sister, the heir they could actually be proud of."

"I don't know exactly how things work in Renvale, but…" Cornelius trailed off. "You've had it hard, haven't you, Christopher?"

"In Renvale, the king cannot have a conflict of interest. To marry a foreign royal is to abdicate, and if I wed Alyssa, I'd no longer be the crown prince of Renvale. I'd still be the prince, but my sister would have replaced me as heir, and then my cousins amongst the nobility would come after her," he explained, clenching his fists. Determined to change the subject, he looked at Cornelius "But… you've had it rough as well… Listen, about Alyssa."

"You know something?" he asked, perking up at once. "Her location?"

"She's still in the castle, Cornelius," he said. "But… she's not Alyssa anymore. She's… Chip didn't want to tell me, but I pieced it together. She's gone Beast, and even the monsters in the woods are afraid to get near her."

"Beast?" Cornelius blanched. "Christopher, she can't control her transformation. It's a full moon only type of deal, so she just takes a potion to sleep through it… but… no, she can't be."

"It's true," he said, his voice grim. "Somehow, whatever the curse that was placed on Amoré did, it turned her. She's lost herself to the Beast."

* * *

"So, what do you think?"

"I think he's stronger than he lets on, but he's also quite near breaking point," said Ali, leaning back against the trough. "As for Alyssa, it's not the worst news. She's stronger than all of us put together when she's in her human form, so she's definitely going to be able to stay alive if she's in the beast form. Getting her to turn back, on the other hand…" He frowned, reaching out his hands to warm them over the fire.

"At the risk of sounding really lame, I'll just point out that there's one way to break any curse," he continued, glancing at Cornelius. "True love's kiss hasn't steered our parents wrong in the past, has it, Neil?"

Cornelius was silent, staring into the fire, wringing his hands. Ali's frown deepened, and he glanced around, making sure that their three companions were asleep. Reaching out to clap his friend on the shoulder, he asked,

"Neil, it's likely the only shot we have."

"It just…" Cornelius said, biting his lip and trailing off. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, his voice cracking, he continued. "I love her more than my own life, and I'd die again just to free her, but is that enough? True love is… what if it doesn't work?"

"I think, based on what you just said, that it's definitely going to work," said Ali in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "Think of everything the two of you have been through just to be together, and then look at the other stories. I dare say that the love the two of you share is a hell of a lot truer than the love King Philip felt for Queen Aurora when he kissed her awake. He didn't even know her from any other woman in the world, and she'd been dead to the world for a hundred years. Look at Christopher. His father somehow got the kiss to work on Queen Snow when she was dead in a coffin. You and Alyssa? You have something they don't. It's not love at first sight or all that crap. It's a love you built, and for what it's worth, I believe it'll work."

"Honestly, Ali, who'd have ever thought you such a romantic?" asked Nick, and Ali started as he glanced at the other prince. Nick was awake in his bedroll, a teasing glint in his eyes as he stared at the two of them.

"He's right, though," Nick continued, looking at Cornelius. "I've seen the way she looks at you, Cor, and I've seen the way you look at her. It'll work. It doesn't even have to be a kiss. Sometimes, all it takes is an act of true love. My mother saved Aunt Anna, not with a kiss, but from a single teardrop as she mourned the loss of her sister."

Cornelius nodded, a glimmer of hope appearing across his face. Looking up, he nodded, stifling a yawn.

"So, all I need to do is somehow manage to get close enough to express my love for my feral wife," he said, a chuckle escaping his lips. "It sounds too easy… maybe that's why I'm nervous. If it sounds so good to be true, it probably is."

"True," said Nick, climbing out of his bedroll. "But, hey, if it isn't broke, why fix it?"

Nodding in agreement, Ali turned back to the fire and stretched. He was exhausted, and glancing at the sky above him, he realized that it was just after midnight. Getting to his feet, he stretched again, sighing as he heard a few soft cracks.

"You and Morgan have the next watch," he said, padding over to his bedroll and pulling the blanket over him. "Cornelius, get some rest."

Not bothering to check if the other prince had listened, he yawned and rolled over, letting the warmth of the fire wash over his back. Sleeping on the beach, he realized, wasn't that much different from going camping in the desert. There was sand beneath him, coarse yet soft, and even if Amoré was likely the last place he'd currently want to be in, the familiarity was enough to help him relax. Tomorrow, there'd be a lot to do—for one, they'd have to figure out what to do with Christopher. Though they'd tended his wounds as best they could, it was rather evident he shouldn't be walking anytime soon, but it wasn't as though they could simply send him back to one of their kingdoms. Carpet was needed here, because unlike Nick and Morgan, Cornelius and he couldn't fly without it.

There was more to ponder. Christopher had mentioned monsters in the woods before passing out, and Chip had explained further. From what he'd been able to gather, the monsters were Hollow Ones, though he couldn't be sure. All he knew about the creatures were that they'd last been seen in Oloria, and that they were currently responsible for the war in the Imperium. For them to be here as well… it made him quite anxious. Amoré and the Imperium were on opposite ends of the known world, but for both of them to fall into the Hollow One's grasp would create a pincer of sorts, surrounding the other kingdoms by their forces.

And, through it all, he couldn't help but worry about what Queen Rapunzel had feared. His own kingdom, Agrabah, had been dealt a grievous blow due to the plagues. The Imperium and Amoré had both fallen. Renvale was silent, despite their crown prince being lost in one of the fallen kingdoms, and nobody had heard from Eléadoré since Queen Cinderella's party had left Arendelle.

Once was an accident. Twice was a coincidence. But, for so many kingdoms to be threatened in such a short time… Ali was not a fool. He was reckless, wild, and carefree, but he was not an idiot. The picture that was being painted in his mind was a grim one, and by the looks of things, it was only going to get worse from here on in.

Fraught with tension, sleep snuck up on him unexpectedly, and the last thing he thought before falling asleep was that he wished Rajah was here, at his side.

* * *

"I suppose this doesn't count as our first trip as a couple?" asked Nick. Placing a few logs onto the fire, he walked over to sit next to Morgan.

Morgan chuckled as his boyfriend settled down beside him. Leaning back against the trough, he leaned over to breathe a flesh stream of his flames over the fire. The night was cold and it was best to ignite the logs as soon as they'd been piled on, lest the fire burn out on its own.

It had been a long day, and the few hours of sleep he'd gotten hadn't been nearly enough. Still, somebody needed to keep watch while the others slept, and the first shift had been taken by Ali and Cornelius. Perhaps it would have been easier to be awake one at a time, but given how exhausted they all were from the long flight, it was best to have a partner.

"Damn right it doesn't," he teased. "When one dates a prince, a certain level of comfort is expected, and keeping watch in a ruined village in a fallen kingdom doesn't cut it."

Nick laughed as he leaned his head against Morgan's shoulder. Slinging an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders, Morgan sighed. Despite the grim situation, it was good to have Nick at his side, and not just because his boyfriend was also his best friend. It was more the sense of security, he reasoned. Between Nick's ice and his fire, he was confident they'd be able to keep themselves safe… unless they were up against someone on his mother's level, in which case they were screwed regardless.

But, it would do him no good to worry about the unknown. Instead, as he glanced around to make sure everyone else was asleep, including the overly chatty teacup and the strange talking teddy, he decided to voice the question that had been on his mind since the two of them had surveyed the area.

"Nick," he asked, staring into the flickering flames. "Earlier, you said your staff was from Neverland?"

"I did," Nick answered. "My father fashioned it out of one of the branches from Hangman's Tree."

"That's actually what I wanted to ask about," said Morgan, running a hand through his hair. "I… well, I was always under the impression that your father was late, and nobody ever mentions a King Arnadalr, but the way you talk about him makes it out like he's still alive, and you say he can get into Neverland, and you somehow got Peter Pan's shadow to be a witness at Cornelius and Alyssa's wedding, but if your father's old enough to have you, it's not like Pan would allo—"

"You're asking me who my father is?" asked Nick, raising an eyebrow. "Don't be nervous. Other than the council and the nobility, it's not really something that most people would know, all things considered."

"Why?" Morgan was confused. It was one thing for people not to know about his father, because he was little more than a bastard born from a one-night stand and a failed attempt at regicide. He could count the number of people who knew who his father was on his fingers and still have a few left over… but Nick was a prince, and the heir to the throne to boot. Surely the people would know who their queen had married.

"The official story is that my father was a wealthy trader whose ship sank whilst my mother was still pregnant," said Nick. "It's easier for the populace to accept, and it's for my sake as well. If people knew the true story, my mother was afraid of how they'd treat me… because, well, I guess I'm like you in a way. I'm not completely human, you see."

"Okay…" said Morgan, frowning. "Nick, you're not really helping my nerves here with all the explanations. Are you like half rock-troll or something? Because that's where my mind is going right now."

He winced as Nick smacked him upside the head and rolled his eyes. Turning to look at his boyfriend, Morgan winced at the offended expression on Nick's face and he immediately held up his hands.

"I was joking about the rock troll thing," he exclaimed. "There's nothing trollish about you. In fact, you look quite—"

"You're forgiven," said Nick with a chuckle. Lightly, he flicked his wrist, a few tendrils of frost dancing around his fingers as he spoke. "Morgan, my full name is Nicholas Jackson Frost."

"Jackson?" Morgan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Who in the world thou…" He trailed off, understanding beginning to dawn, and he flushed at the idea. "Jackson Frost. Your father is a _Guardian?_ " He glanced up at the moon, suddenly realizing that his boyfriend was the metaphorical grandson of Tsar Luna himself. Oh… this was a lot to take in.

"Is it that surprising?" asked Nick. "You don't think I inherited all my magic from my mother, do you? She can't fly."

"It's a surprise, but not a bad one," he said, pulling Nick back so that his boyfriend's head was back on his shoulder. "It's better than being a rock troll, I'll wager." He chuckled, leaning back. A _Guardian._ His boyfriend was half-Guardian, but all things considered, it wasn't so surprising once he'd let it sink in. He could understand the need for a cover story as well. Guardians were... it was hard to explain. There were murals on them in Tsar Luna's chapels, and statues as well. If everyone knew about Nick... he could hardly imagine the hero-worship they'd be throwing his way.

Hell, if he hadn't gotten to know Nick first, he'd probably be a little starstruck as well.

"So, what about your father?"

Morgan tensed, biting his lip. He should have known this conversation would be coming when he'd enquired about Nick's father, and a part of him didn't know if he was ready to reveal that aspect of himself. But, he realized, that was a silly notion. He'd already shared so much with Nick, and compared to the horror stories he'd shared, his father's identity was nothing. His boyfriend had taken everything in stride, from his scars to his tail, and if he couldn't share this with him, then who could he share it with?

"Well, I'm a bastard," he said, shrugging. "But, well, my father is King Philip Rêvere of Somnia."

Nick sucked in a breath, pulling away from him and staring at him incredulously. Eyes wide, his boyfriend spluttered, looking as though he'd just been clubbed over the head, and Morgan sighed. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd expected, but this was as good as any, all things considered. Gathering himself, he launched into the full story: how his mother had run into King Philip whilst he'd been travelling across Somnia with his knights, and how she'd disguised herself as a serving wench in order to get close enough to murder the king. How she had slept with him and after he was asleep, how she'd made to cut out his heart, and how he'd woken in time to fight her off with an iron knife. How, eleven years later, he'd received a letter from his father, and he told Nick about the cursed needle he kept with him at all times, a reminder of what his father thought of him.

When he was finally done, Nick's incredulous expression had faded, replaced instead with one that seemed almost angry.

"Nick, are you okay?" he asked, biting his lip. "This… this doesn't change anything, does it?"

"I'm not mad at you," said Nick, though the anger never left his expression. "Your father, on the other hand… If that needle trap worked… I'd have never met you, and he'd have likely put his own son to sleep for all time."

"It's the past," said Morgan, forcing a smile. "I suppose you could have come and found me eventually, though. Do I qualify as a sleeping beauty?"

Nick glared for a minute before giggling, his anger breaking as quickly as it came. Shaking his head, he leaned back against the trough, linking his fingers with Morgan's.

"You've been through so much, Morgan," said Nick, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "How in the world do you still manage to always turn everything into a joke?"

"You can cry or you can laugh," he replied with a shrug. "I always figured it was better to laugh about my problems than cry about them. So, it's seriously okay. You're not mad I didn't tell you sooner?"

"Morgan, I fell in love with you when I just knew that you were the son of Maleficent, and let's be honest, she's not a saint. What makes you think I'd have second thoughts now because your father happens to be an asshole?"

Morgan let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding, and he chuckled as Nick leaned in to peck him on the lips. Smiling, he met his boyfriend's eyes, wondering what he'd ever done to deserve to have someone like Nick in his life.

"For the record," said Nick, settling down at his side, "I never liked the man."

"Look," replied Morgan, chuckling at his boyfriend. "One more thing we have in common."


	21. The Tides of War

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

 **The Tides of War**

* * *

"Your life could become a lot more comfortable if you just told us what you know," said Prince Consort Kristoff, standing just outside her cell. His expression was one of deepest distaste, and his voice was cold. "Tell us, Renata, how did you come to learn of what we have in our vaults?"

Renata chuckled. It had been several weeks since she'd been tossed into this cell, but there had been no real mistreatment. The guards were quite rough, but she'd been given food and water, and they'd even given her a thin sheet to use as a blanket when she'd complained about the cold. She was stiff and still quite sore from her fall down the stairs, and the food was not enough to fill her belly, and there was a dull pounding in her head, but she was still relatively well-taken care off. That was the problem with the council, she reasoned… they were far too soft. Had the situation been reversed, she'd have stripped the prince naked and tossed him into the darkest pit in Grimhilde Keep, and all he'd have from her would be stagnant water and stale bread.

And, if he didn't crack within the first week, she'd give him to Damon and Dominique. She smirked. Whilst her disgust for the twins was no secret, the truth of the matter was that they were both excellent at extracting information from just about everyone. Their powers… well, they always claimed to not have any, but Renata would be a fool to believe them. When one considered what their father could do with just a flute, and weighed that against how easily the twins could lure people into the black widow's web they called a bed… well, Renata had her suspicions.

"I quite enjoy the silence," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "It's quite annoying that you people insist on disturbing me every morning."

"Our patience only extends so far," said Prince Kristoff. "If we should decide you are useless, the punishment for attempted regicide is death. And, in Arendelle, we do things rather elegantly."

"I am well aware of how things are done in Arendelle," she said, suppressing the urge to chuckle. "But, you won't kill me. If you do, you'll never learn a thing, will you?"

"You forget, there were three of you." Prince Kristoff smirked. "Once the first dies, the next two typically become very chatty, even more so if we decide to kill the next. Make no mistake, Renata, we are all very good people in this castle, but getting our hands dirty is a necessary part of ruling a kingdom."

"You're bluffing," she said, even as a bit of uncertainty welled up inside her. "I know the twins. Whatever you can do to them is nowhere as bad as the things they do to each other for fun, so they're not cracking anytime soon. And, neither am I."

Forcing a confident smile to her face, she leaned back against her cot and fell silent. The prince stared her down, a vein pulsing in his temple, and then he turned away with a snort. As he walked off, Renata breathed a sigh of relief and got to her feet. As noble as he was, there was now a sliver of doubt in her heart, because this was the first time a real threat had been posed. They were getting tired of her silence, and the fact remained that she was a prisoner of war.

She had no rights here, and they could do with her as they liked. Not that they'd do all that much… but could she take that chance? The plan was already in tatters, and if she did not return to Grimhilde soon, who knew what her mother's new ally would do. The situation had to be explained and apologised for.

Of course, if she got herself out, she wouldn't be able to rescue the twins… Oh well, she thought, walking over to the narrow window in the corner of the room. It was for the best, really. The twins may be her allies, but the world would breathe a sigh of relief if they both met their ends in the dungeons of Arendelle. If she freed them, there was always the chance that they'd one day breed, and if it was true that madness multiplied with each generation of the De Vil family, then any child of Damon's and Dominiques would be best smothered in its crib.

The window was narrow, to small for her to even push her hand through, but it was winter in Arendelle, and icicles had formed across the ledge. Glancing at the icicles, she felt a jolt run through her at the sight of her reflection, hazy and somewhat indistinct, but there all the same. Reaching out, tugging her sleeve over her palm, she wiped the frost off the icicle, polishing it until it was clear as glass. Water dripped from the tip, but her reflection was clear enough.

Ice was nothing more than nature's mirror, was it not?

It would be dangerous… her reflection was not quite clear, and the icicle was very small and fragile. And, given her lack of rest, she'd be quite powerless by the time she went through. Still, Grimhilde would be safe… and home sounded a lot nicer than the dungeons of Arendelle.

Reaching out, she drew on her power, feeling it spark in her chest. The gentle warmth ran down her arm and poured out of her fingers, soaking into the icicle. With a smirk, she reached out and touched it, and there was a sharp tug in her navel as the makeshift mirror yanked her through.

The mirror world was white and empty, and she flitted through like a ghost as she was drawn towards the mirror on the other side. Breaking through it like the surface of a lake, she gasped at the refreshing coolness, stumbling onto the ground of her bedroom in Grimhilde. She coughed, her limbs trembling like leaves as she blinked, trying to clear her vision.

"Well, would you look at who finally decided to show up?"

Before she could react, Damon's boot had caught her in the cheek. Pain radiated across her face as she was knocked over, and something warm and wet trickled down her jaw. Scowling, she fought to get to her feet, but the mirror travel had drained her, and Damon had caught her at her worst moment. _How is he even here?_ Kristoff must have lied to her, because the twins certainly weren't in the dungeons of Arendelle, not if Damon was here in Grimhilde. Idly, she fought the urge to laugh, knowing that Arendelle had lost their last kernel of information when she'd escaped, and then her attention turned to Damon, who loomed over her with a livid expression.

"Hello Renny, Darling," he said, grasping her by the hair and dragging her to her feet. Her eyes widened as she took him in—his handsome face was half-covered in bandages, and the look in his eyes was manic, almost demented. "Dominique would say hello, but I'm afraid she's dead. Told her we shouldn't have listened to you and just skinned the lot of them, but no, we needed hostages. Oh, Mummy's dead as well, by the way, and our prisoners have escaped. Funny, isn't it?"

He laughed, throwing back his head, his teeth flashing in the dim light streaming in through the windows. Renata paled as she digested the information, struggling in his grasp, but her arms still felt like two wet noodles, and for all his flaws, Damon was strong as sin.

"It's okay," he continued, patting her on the cheek. He flung her to the ground, climbing up to straddle her chest and pin her wrists under his knees. "I still have Daddy, even if he doesn't love me like Dominique did. I wouldn't mind if he did. Who doesn't want to suck the cock that made them?" Leering, he leaned in, cocking his head to the side, and he was laughing between his words, utterly and completely demented.

"Damon, perhaps you—"

He clapped a hand over her mouth, cutting her off.

"No, not another word out of that sinfully fuckable mouth, sweetheart," he said. "It's just you and me now, and we're going to get some revenge, aren't we? But you talk too much, and everything you say is just so stupid, you know? It's okay. Don't look so scared. I'd just sew your lips shut, but then how would I get to use your mouth? Maybe you could just be quiet? Won't that be nice? Then I wouldn't have to cut out your tongue."

Her eyes widened and she nodded, eager to agree. Her strength was beginning to return to her, and if she could keep him placated for a few more moments, she'd be able to break out of his hold and dispose of him. Strong and skilled with a blade as he was, it was obvious to her that Damon had lost what little had been left of his mind, and that would throw him off his game in a fight.

"We'll be best friends, sweetheart, you and me," he said, and his eyes glinted as he leaned in, his voice growing thick with allure. "You'll help me and I'll help you, and we'll kill them all before fucking on a bed made of their corpses? Right?"

Renata frowned. Her head was growing heavy, her thoughts slightly fuzzy. _No_ , she thought, realizing what was happening. Desperately, she tried to force her mental defenses into place, but it was no use. Like hooks, Damon's magic had already caught her, and trying to fight it off was a fool's errand.

"We're going to my Chateau in Eléadoré, okay, and we can play all day. Tomorrow, we'll go kill something, and then we'll play some more. It's just you and me now, sweetheart, isn't it?" He chuckled, his voice dripping with his allure, and just like that, something in her mind snapped. "Daddy might be visiting, and I'll even let him play with you if he wants. I like to share. You'll come with me, won't you, sweetheart? Hamelin really is lovely this time of year."

"I'd like that very much," she said, and to her horror, she meant it.

* * *

"Have you reconsidered, my dear?" asked Tremaine.

Cinderella looked up, her eyes narrowing as they fell upon her gaoler. Tall and thin, her stepmother walked with a haughty elegance, her cane tapping the ground with every step she took. Her grey hair was pulled into a tight bun, and a gaudy crown glimmered upon her brow. It was a tacky thing, Cinderella thought, forged of gold and three times the size of the one she'd worn when she'd still sat the throne beside her husband.

"Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you," she replied, her chains rattling as she moved. Her wrists had been tightly shackled above her head, and the strain of keeping her arms up had long since caused her to lose feeling in them. "Lucile and Jaq are both long gone."

She spread her lips in a bloody smile, flashing her broken teeth at Tremaine. If the Godmother was good, her children would have crossed the border by now, but there was no way of telling which kingdom they had been headed for. When her stepmother had staged her coup, she had gone to great lengths to make sure her children were able to escape the castle, but she had been equally careful to not let them divulge their destination, not even to her.

"No matter," said Tremaine, seemingly unfazed. "There is nowhere for them to run to."

"A lie," replied Cinderella, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "I have a great many friends, Tremaine, and my children will be granted sanctuary no matter where they turn. And, in time, they'll see your head on a stake."

"You always were a delusional little girl," said Tremaine, quirking an eyebrow. Straightening her back, she lashed out with her cane, catching Cinderella across the face. A sharp crack echoed across the room, and she nearly bit out her tongue to keep from screaming. Gasping for breath, she slumped forward, but contained her agony.

Her hair may be a matted tangle, her face may be bruised and swollen, her teeth may be cracked, and she may be dressed in a filthy brown shift with her feet forced into glass slippers that were far too small, but even like this, she was still a queen, and she still had her pride. She refused to break under Tremaine's torment, no matter how bad it got.

"Your children are alone and friendless, lost in a hostile land with bounties on their heads," continued Tremaine, her smirk deepening. "Do you have any idea how easy it was to stage this coup? The nobility of Eléadoré has no love for you or your husband. Who can blame them? You're a maid without a name, and yet he raised you up to be their queen. One whisper from me and a few promises, and they were ready to string the lot of you up by your throats."

Cinderella remained silent, wincing as the cane viciously prodded her in the throat. Tremaine cackled, her yellowed teeth shining in the gloomy light cast by the single oil lamp in the corner of the room. Tremaine wanted her to take the bait, to get angry and say something that she wouldn't be able to take back. Closing her eyes, she tried to slip away inside herself, to let the world around her fall away, just as she had when she'd been a young girl subjected to Tremaine's temper.

The years of lavish comfort, though, had softened her and alienated her from the girl she had been, and she was aware of every prod, poke, hit, and crack. Blood dribbled from her lips, and her torso felt as though it was on fire, every inch of her skin burning beneath the roughspun shift.

Blood ran down her legs from where the cane had cut deep into her skin, splitting it open. Old, Tremaine may be, but she was still as strong as ever, and the years had only honed her precision when it came to using that blasted cane. Finally, after what felt like eternity, the blows stopped coming, and Cinderella looked up, spitting her hair out of her mouth and glaring.

"Most impressive. Your husband endured worse and didn't crack either. No matter," said Tremaine. "It would seem you've outlived your usefulness, though I'd say you outlived that the day you were old enough to talk."

She snapped her fingers, and the door swung open. Two burly guardsmen walked in, dragging Henry between them. Cinderella's heart sank as she took in the sight of her husband. He was naked, blood running down his bruised skin, and when he looked up at her, half-conscious and not seeming to truly see her, she realized that he'd lost several of his teeth, whilst his left eye was a gruesome ruin. The socket was empty, oozing pus and blood, and the skin was burned. As they chained him to the wall across from her, binding his hands above his head, just as they'd done her, Cinderella realized that the skin upon half his fingers had been flayed away, and all his fingernails were missing.

"You loathsome bitch," she snarled, jerking forward against her chains. They rattled mockingly, digging into her skin as she tried to lunge at Tremaine, and to tear that vicious smile from the old bitch's face with her bare hands. "I should have had your head years ago."

"What's this?" asked Tremaine, laughter bubbling from her lips. "One more mistake in the long history of mistakes that has been your life? Who would have thought?"

"The only mistake was not having you hanged for your crimes," she shrieked, jerking forward again. Rage bubbled up within her, fuelling her through the pain and exhaustion. She was not a violent woman, but in that moment, all she wanted was to rip Tremaine apart, to make her hurt as much as she did.

"I will forgive that rudeness," said Tremaine, dismissing the guards with a snap of her fingers. "In fact, I will be quite merciful. I will allow the two of you to be together as you meet your end."

Walking across the cell, Tremaine smirked as she reached out for a many-spoked wheel against the wall. Reaching out, she turned it, and Cinderella shrieked as she felt the chains tighten around her wrist. Across from her, Henry groaned. Then, she was being lifted off her feet until she was just a few inches above her ground. Almost at once, her shoulders began to ache.

"I must confess, I was surprised to find such a device in your dungeons, Cinderella," said Tremaine. "A relic of King Henry's grandfather's rule, I would say. It's an interesting bit of equipment, isn't it." Locking the wheel in place, she reached for the lever beside it, yanking it down. Something clicked, and Cinderella bit her tongue deep enough to draw blood as she felt the weight upon her shoulders double, and it almost felt as if they were pulled up whilst her body dragged her down.

"It's a slow death, but no more than you deserve. My men will be here to force food and water down your mouths everyday, because I want you awake for all of it. If you lose consciousness, they'll wake you. You see, my dear, in a few hours, the pain will be unbearable. Soon, your shoulders will dislocate. Then, in time, they'll pop off altogether, and you'll bleed out on the floor. The same is true for Henry."

Cinderella's eyes widened as she stared at her husband and then at the chains, realization dawning. Her throat grew tight, and her stomach felt as though it had turned to lead.

"I am merciful, dear. Whichever one of you dies first releases the weight on the chains, and they'll fall to the ground. I'll treat the survivor as my honoured guest, and let them live in this cell for the rest of their life with their lover's corpse as company. It would be a shame to come between true love, after all.

"You will pay for this, Tremaine," said Cinderella. "May the next time I see you be when we meet in hell."

Tremaine chuckled. "Goodbye, Cinderella."

* * *

 _My Dearest Queen Elsa_

 _I write this letter with a heavy heart. Dark clouds circle Renvale, and all my joys have turned to ashes in my mouth. My dearest husband, King Florian Charming, has been assassinated, killed by poison, and an investigation has unearthed that the murderer was none other than my beloved Margaret. I can imagine your shock, but no heart is as broken as mine over this nightmarish turn of events._

 _My son and our heir, Prince Christopher Charming, has been missing since the fall of Amoré, as he had been visiting the kingdom when the disaster claimed it. I am beside myself, and I do hope you are able to forgive me not sending my troops to the front. Renvale is in a state of turmoil, and as the line of succession has been utterly ripped out by the roots, I have been coronated to rule until my dear nephew, Viscountess Vanellope von Schweetz, a babe still at her mother's breast, comes off age._

"Well, things just keep getting worse, don't they?" asked Kristoff, raising an eyebrow as she set down the letter, not willing to read any longer.

The letter made no sense. It was genuine, that much she could tell, because it bore the royal seals of both Renvale and Queen Snow, the three golden acorns as well as the the red apple, but the truth of the matter was that nothing in the letter made sense. King Charming was dead… which Anna could believe, but for Margaret, his own daughter, to be the killer? She knew Margaret, and the girl was a great many things, but a killer was not one of them.

Anna had met killers before, and she doubted that Princess Margaret Katherine Charming had it in her to take a life. The girl was naive and spoiled, but it took grit to kill, or a strong sense of self-preservation… and to be honest, the girl had neither.

"An understatement, wouldn't you say?" she asked, burying her face in her hands. "Nick's gone, the prisoner escaped, King Charming has been assassinated, and… I can go on for days, can't I, but well, everything's gone to shit."

Her husband shook his head, looking worried. Setting aside the reports he'd been looking over, he rose from his seat and came to kneel beside her chair, taking her hands in his. Bringing them to his lips, he kissed her knuckles before reaching up to cup her cheek.

"Once, long ago, the entire kingdom went to shit and we made it through all right, didn't we?" he said, and her choked response was half a sob and half laughter. "Granted, you died in the process, but you're still here, right?"

"A frozen heart beats more steadily than a dead one," she replied, pursing her lips. "I'm worried, Kristoff… I'd just had Brynn when Oloria fell, and so the two of us didn't go to the war-front… but you remember how Elsa was when she returned. The things she saw… and now Nick's out there, and she is again, and there's Agrabah, and Amoré, and Renvale, and who knows how long before the war finds itself on our doorstep? Bryn and Morrigan…" She swallowed, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as she trailed off, worry for her children plaguing her.

Her daughters were her life, and neither of them were old enough to defend themselves, not like her nephew could. Amoré had fallen in less than a day based on all the reports, and the Imperium had been swept to dust in a week. Against such power, what chance did Arendelle stand, all but defenceless as it currently was with their army and both Nick and Elsa abroad.

All she could do was trust in the wards woven around the city… Elsa's frost burned hotter than fire, but that was nothing compared to the defences laid upon the city walls. Jack had woven his magic into the very stones of Arendelle when Nick had been born, and it was the magic of both her sister and her brother-in-law that she had to trust.

"Anna, look at me," said Kristoff, rousing her from her thoughts. "It will end well. Don't ask me how I know. I just do."

"You're my husband. It's your job to say that, even when you know it's not true."

"Yet, when have I ever lied to you?" he asked. "Twenty-one years of marriage and I've always been honest, haven't I?"

"You have," she said softly. "But you can't lie about things you don't know about. Do you know, after Elsa told me she planned on taking almost the entirety of our army to the Imperium, I wanted to send the girls to Corona. It would be so much safer for them, and then the idea only intensified when Renata's cohorts broke into the castle… But I can't, can I? Morrigan's still nursing, and Bryn… even being in the castle this long, away from the trolls, is dangerous for her… Isn't that just the kicker… I can't even send my daughter to safety because of another one of my mistakes."

"Grand Pabbie assured Olaf that she would be fine when he allowed her to return to the castle to meet Morrigan," said Kristoff. "The ice in her heart will thaw in time… she just needs to find her act of true love, and she's strong enough to warm her own heart now. She doesn't need the trolls to warm it for her."

"She would not need too if she hadn't inherited my curse," said Anna, her voice breaking. "Even after all these years, I can still piece the cold in my chest, and it hurts, Kristoff, but do you know what hurts more? Knowing she has to feel the same thing."

"And Alyssa Rose has to deal with her father's beastly nature. Nick spent months floating around the castle whenever he took off his shoes because of Jack. Cornelius gets upset and every light in the room goes out. All of them, Bryn included, inherited a few bad things along with the good from their parents… but that ice she got from you, it gave her magic as well, didn't it?"

"Always looking on the bright side, aren't you, Kristoff?" she asked, a wan smile spreading across her lips as she leaned in to rest her head against his. "I wish I could still be as positive as the girl I once was."

"You're still that girl, Anna," he said, "Now, you're just old as well." His voice slightly teasing, he scrunched up his nose as she smacked him on the shoulder. A yelp escaped her throat as he yanked her down onto him, sending the pair sprawling onto the rug.

"Very mature," she said, and despite everything, she laughed at the face he pulled. "Sometimes, I wonder how you every managed to find a wife."

"You're one to talk," he replied, leaning in to press his lips to hers. "You married me."

* * *

"You don't have to come with us, you know?" said Cornelius, falling into step with him. "If you wanted to go, Ali's carpet could have you in Corona within a few hours."

Christopher frowned as he limped along the path, using a somewhat burnt stick from the fishing village as a makeshift cane to keep as much of his weight of his feet as he could. The thorns of Amoré's woods had cut deep, and even though he'd cleaned out the cuts and wrapped them in bandages, they still stung. Mercifully, Morgan was about his size, and he'd been able to borrow a pair of shoes, and Cornelius had chipped in with a fresh shirt to replace the one he'd been using as a satchel.

With Pooh and Chip both nestled in Nicholas' bag, there'd been no need for his old shirt anymore, and so they'd simply cleaned it as best they could and kept what remained of the tattered fabric in case they needed more bandages.

Honestly, it didn't feel as though he was needed anymore. Pooh and Chip were both safer with Nicholas than they were with him, and he was not a fighter, not in the slightest. Injured as he was, it was quite possible that he was a liability to the rest of them… but that didn't change the fact that they'd saved him, and _he_ wanted to help them in whatever way he could.

"I know," he replied, his voice low. "But… what kind of person would I be if I ran away when the going got tough?" Realizing that he was slowing them down, he gritted his teeth and picked up the pace, wincing with every step.

"A smart person," said Cornelius. "You're injured, you're not a fighter, and don't get me wrong, I like you well enough, Christopher, and I don't think you'll help anyone by getting yourself killed."

Christopher shrugged, biting his lip. Looking away, he walked on in silence for a bit longer, a dozen thoughts flying through his head. The truth was that maybe getting himself killed might be the only way he'd ever be useful. He flinched just thinking about it, the mere thought of how much more useful he'd be as a meatshield or diversion as opposed to a person overwhelming him. No, this wasn't about him and his oddities… this was a rescue mission, and dammit it all to hell, he wouldn't add this to the list of things he'd failed at. All his life, he'd felt stupid, but this… this was something he didn't want to one day look back and say that, once again, he'd run.

He could do this… he was a prince, and he'd stand alongside the rest of them as they rescued their friend. He'd said horrible things to Alyssa, taking out his own issues and frustrations on her, but she'd been a friend, even for a short time before the curse had struck. She'd done some nasty things as well, but she was still his _friend._

Friends didn't turn their back on friends… they just didn't. That much, he did know.

Possessed by the sudden urge to sit down and cry, he fought to stay on his feet. He _had_ abandoned her, though, opting to flee the castle rather than stick around and try to find a way to save her. He'd abandoned all of them: Queen Belle, who'd been warm in ways his own mother had never been, and King Adam, trapped in the same cursed shell as Alyssa, and Lumiére, who'd always been kind… Even his toys back home; he'd left them as well, even if he hadn't had any choice in the matter. Swallowing thickly, he pressed on, until he felt a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Was it something I said?" asked Cornelius. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm being short with you all. I'm just worried, and I'm not a people person when I'm worried."

"Look, Cornelius, I know I'm pretty pathetic, and I get that I'm useless, but I can count the number of people who've been nice to me on my fingers and still have fingers left over." Christopher sucked in a breath, pursing his lips. "Alyssa is one of those people. I'm coming with you lot because she's my friend as well… and she's your wife, and even though we've seen each other perhaps twice in ten years, you never mocked me either."

Cornelius paused, surveying him, looking as though he didn't know quite what to say. Awkwardly, he ran a hand through his hair before nodding. The woods on either side of the path were quiet, too quiet, and Ali was way ahead of them, scouting out the path ahead. Nicholas and Morgan were flying above, keeping an eye on the surrounding countryside, and a reminiscent chill ran down Christopher's spine.

Standing here, enclosed by the trees, listening to the silence… it was felt far too familiar for his liking. Warily, he glanced around.

"You know what, I don't care what they say about you," said Cornelius, breaking the ominous silence. "You have a lot of heart, Christopher. And for the record, I never thought you were weird, because when I met you, the only thing that ran through my mind was that it was rather cool to have a living teddy bear."

Cornelius' words warmed him, but for some reason, he couldn't respond. His tongue seemed to have turned to lead, and he could hear it, echoing faintly in the background. Panic began to set in as he pinched himself and realized that no, he was not imagining it. The growls were real, and he grasped Cornelius by the wrist.

"We need to run," he said. "Now."

For a second, Cornelius looked confused. Then, a loud roar tore the air, and his eyes widened as he took off, keeping hold of him and half-dragging him along. Christopher bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain, but then Ali had turned back to see what the commotion was, and Morgan and Nicholas were descending, flying back to back and keeping a wary watch over the surrounding trees.

"What in Tsar Luna's—" Ali began, reaching for his whip.

"We need to get in the air," Cornelius gasped. "Hollow Ones in the woods."

Swiftly, Ali nodded and whistled, and as the first Hollow One thudded out of the woods, waving about its cleavers, the magic carpet flitted over, hovering a few inches above the ground. A flash of fire caught Christopher's attention, and he looked up in surprise as Morgan spat out a fireball. The Hollow One burst like a balloon as the fire hit it, a loud squelch echoing through the woods as blackened blood, rotted flesh, and yellow pus splashed the area.

"Get on," yelled Cornelius, and numbly, Christopher scrambled onto the carpet, his heart sinking as more Hollow Ones burst from the trees. A large icicle took one in the chest, and then another fireball went flying, and a few seconds later, Carpet was rising into the air.

"Hold on to something," said Ali as Morgan and Nicholas rose into the sky beside them, both taking deep breaths. "It's getting windy, and I don't think we're going to be walking for a while."

Determinedly not looking down, Christopher grabbed onto Carpet's tassels, and taking a deep breath to steady himself, he closed his eyes against the frigid wind as they raced through the sky, the Hollow Ones lurching after them, and the castle of Amoré looming over the horizon.

* * *

"Queen Elsa's forces have swept the coast, and Queen Ariel has brought the flatlands to heel," said Princess Sigrun, setting down the missive. "It would appear that the eastern seaboard has been cleared of all hostile forces."

Jian nodded, opting to hide his elation at the news. The captains who reported to Sigrun already held him in disdain due to his reliance on magic, and he would give them no further excuses to complain about what they called ineptitude. He would dearly love to see what they would accomplish had they been in his position; without dragons or supplies, exhausted and battling numerous injuries, with just a small handful of soldiers under his command, all of whom had been in much the same state as he.

They were seated around a rough-hewn table in the dining chamber of the Bei Fong Estate, which their combined forces had liberated from the Hollow Ones and then claimed for use as a temporary base of operations. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to so callously seize the home and belongings of a family that could not have been dead for more than a few days, if the state of the corpses could be believed, but in war, there were no rules. You took what you needed to survive, and it was not as though the dead would be able to use the estate for anything other than a haunting.

It was better than camping, that much was sure. Here, they had a roof over their head, full granaries, and sturdy walls from which to keep watch over the surrounding countryside. Should they come under siege, the walls would do little good, but it was much better than the rough canvas of a tent, that much was certain.

"Commander Jian?"

He started, roused from his thoughts, and he realized that Sigrun was speaking to him. Clearing his throat and ignoring the many condescending glances shot in his direction, he turned to look at the princess, silently urging her to repeat the question and spare him the embarrassment of admitting he hadn't been paying attention.

"You know the land better than most of us," she said smoothly, gesturing to the map on the table. "The Imperial Palace lies between us and the sea, but we desperately need to join our strength with that of Queen Elsa's and Queen Ariel's before we can even consider assaulting the capital. What is the fastest way around?"

"Here," he said, stabbing a finger at the map. "These fields are used to grow wheat, and there are several trails leading through them for horses and caravans. We would reach our allies' position within a week, but they are dangerously close to the Imperial Palace. Here, though," he pointed to a second smooth expanse of green on the map. "Mulberry orchards for the cultivation of silkworms. The bluffs give us cover, and it would take us longer to cross them, but the risk would be much lower."

"Pah! Are you a soldier or a coward?" asked Captain Hrid, a hoarish man with a thick neck and a large battle-axe strapped to his back. "We cross the wheat fields, and if the enemy seeks to threaten us, we cut them down!"

"Several hundred refugees have flocked to our banners," said Jian, raising an eyebrow. "Now, I am not sure how soldiers behave in DunBroch and Berk, but here, we prioritize the safety of our citizens. Or, perhaps you would like to put a sword in the hand of every infant and elder who has come to us for solace, fleeing the destruction of their homes and the deaths of their families, and ask them to fight?"

Silence rang clear through the air, and he leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he'd made his point. Hrid glared at him, red in the face, and beside him, Captain Dagmar clenched his jaw. The others exchanged sour looks with each other, but when he turned to Sigrun, she was smirking.

"Perhaps that is how things are done in the Imperium," she said, "But in DunBroch and Berk, our civilians can defend themselves. Still, you raise a fair point." Rising to her feet, she swept out a hand. "You are all dismissed. I would like to think in private."

As the captains muttered their farewells and rose, Jian stood up. Turning, he paused when he felt a cool hand upon his wrist. Glancing behind him, he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Not you," said Sigrun, her voice low. "I would like a few words."

As the last of the captains left and the doors closed behind them, Jian leaned against the table, waiting for her to say what she had to. This was new for him—especially when it came to Sigrun. There was history between them, but she was a very different person than the girl he remembered. When he'd met her… she'd been rather tomboyish, but also sweet and prone to laughter. The Sigrun who stood before him now, however, was a different kettle of fish altogether. She wore armor in place of silk, and he knew that the eyepatch she wore was not there for cosmetic reasons. He swallowed thickly, not wanting to dwell on that particular memory.

Very few princesses in history could claim to hold the title of general, and yet, he was certain that Sigrun had earned her way to the top.

"My men don't like you," she said, cutting right to the point. "Small wonder, given how hard _you_ are to like, but if you mouth off like that again, I can't guarantee they won't come looking for you in the night to wedge a knife between your ribs."

He raised an eyebrow. "Surely the men under your command are not so thin-skinned that they would resort to such lowly methods of revenge? I would have expected that you would have instilled a better sense of discipline into them."

"Discipline?" she asked. "Berk is not the Imperium, and neither is DunBroch. My people respect and follow strength, not whatever nonsense their edicts have instilled in them. If you want their respect, show your strength, because engaging them in a battle of wits will just leave you with a headache and them very annoyed."

"I do believe that's the best advice you've ever given me," he said, snorting. "But, I don't want their respect. Now, is that all or can I go?"

Sigrun regarded him with a curious eye, and she sighed. Gesturing for him to follow, she headed for the door, and as she opened it, she ushered him out ahead of her. The corridor was empty, but the sounds of soldiers chatting over dinner echoed from the courtyard where a great many soldiers had set up their tents, and it was a heartening sound after the weary silence of the past few weeks.

"Walk with me," she said, and her tone made it clear that it was a command rather than a request.

Wordlessly, he followed, wondering what it was she wanted now.

"How are you handling everything?" she asked, the weariness in her voice taking him by surprise. "A brave face is easy to put on, but nobody recovers from the losses you've taken so quickly."

"I'm fine." He gritted his teeth. What did she care as to how he was coping? At the end of the day, they had both walked separate paths a long time ago, and more to the point, she had no right to pry. Breaking down in front of her had been a mistake, he knew, and if he could take it back, he would. He had allowed his grief to get the better of him, but he couldn't allow that to happen again. Swallowing down thoughts of his mother, his father, his brothers, and his sister, he kept his head held high and kept up his face, not letting his indifferent facade crack for so much as a second.

"We both know that isn't true," she said. "Now, it's not my place to pry, but it is my place to make sure you don't get yourself killed in the coming battles, Jian. And, you say you're fine, but I know _you,_ and this isn't you."

"You know me as well as I know you," he countered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "It's been a very long time, Sigrun, and we're not the kids we were in Renvale."

"True," she said, "But the more things change, the more they stay the same. Believe it or not, I do care about you despite how we left things, and I'd rather you don't die in the near future."

"Look, Sigrun," he said, running a hand through his hair and turning away. "I'm _fine_. I'll be better when the war is over, sure, but I have soldiers civilians who depend on me, and I'm not about to leave them to their own devices by dying just because I'm in mourning. I'm grateful that you're trying to be there for me, but I don't need that, I really don't."

"Then, what do you need?" she asked, turning, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know," he said. "All I know is that it isn't you."

* * *

She staggered, feeling as though he'd just slapped her across the face. Drawing herself up to her full height, Sigrun glared, her temper flaring at his words. Did he understand nothing? Was he truly as selfish now as he'd been all those years ago? Did he, for one second think, she'd have dropped everything and marshalled her forces the minute she had learned the Imperium was under attack, disobeyed her father's wishes to remain out of the conflict until more intelligence had been gathered, had it not been for him?

"Yes," she said. "Lash out like you always do when someone tries getting close to you. It's what you did in Renvale, isn't it?"

"I don't want to talk about that," he retorted, and his voice was rising to match hers. Turning, he made to leave.

She was grateful that the captains and soldiers were eating outside, sparing them the need to witness the scene the two of them were causing. Thoughts of the war slid from her mind as she reached out, grasping him by the collar and yanking him back.

"Oh, we're talking about it," she said. "Can't you, for a minute, just admit that you need help? The last time you charged in, refusing to listen to the people who cared about you, I lost my fucking eye. What's it going to be this time? Your life?"

"You losing that eye was not my fault. Nobody asked you to come after me!"

"What was I supposed to do? Let you rush off after those thugs on your own just because they'd stolen my bag? We both know you'd be dead if it wasn't for me showing up when I did."

"I had everything under control! If you'd just stayed in town like I'd told you to—"

"Why is it so bloody hard for you to admit that you can't do everything on your own?" She clenched her fists, cutting him off in mid-sentence. The only person he was fooling was himself, because they all knew the truth. They'd been ready to string him up from a tree by the time she'd arrived, and if she hadn't interfered, as he put it, he'd be hanging like a bird feeder.

"Why?" she continued, when he made no move to reply. "Why can't you just get over your stupid sense of pride and admit that you needed my help, and why can't just you look at me now and be honest about the fact that you're not okay."

"Because it's _you_ ," he roared, and immediately, she could tell by his expression that he hadn't meant to say that. "What do you want from me? To tell you I want to just go to sleep and wake up to find it's all been a bad dream? To admit that I'm crying myself to sleep every night? What do you want? To tell you it sometimes keeps me up at night knowing that you have one eye because of me? To give you more ammunition for you to lob back in my face whenever we argue?"

Was that what he thought? She frowned, her anger dwindling as swiftly as it had risen, and she reached out to steady his trembling hands with her own. He tried to pull away, but she had wrestled dragons, and her drip was firm enough to keep him from turning and bolting…

"No," she said, surprising herself by how tender she sounded. "Jian… I don't blame you for what happened to me. What I blame you for is running, for making me feel like you were only with me when I had a pretty face. But, that's not why I'm here. I'm here, talking to you, trying to get you to let me in, because I know what happens when you bottle things away, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I ran because it was my fault," he said, after what felt like an era of silence. "I… I never meant to hurt you more than I already had." His voice cracked, and he tried to pull away again, but she simply shook her head, wordlessly gesturing for him to continue.

"I'm sorry about the eye, about leaving you, and about everything that came after. But, in this, I am a soldier of the Imperium, and I can only let myself mourn when my homeland is safe. All I can do now is kill as many Hollows as I can because that's what I want. Vengeance. For my home, my family, and my friends."

"I understand that, but promise me that you will not join them in the grave. On your honor as a soldier, promise me that," she said, knowing him well enough to understand the only way to ensure he never gave up was to have him to vow to survive upon the one thing that had ceased to be an occupation and become an extension of himself.

"Very well. I swear upon my honour as a soldier of the Imperium that I will survive this war."

"Good," she said, reaching out to run a hand down his cheek. Without meaning to, she leaned in, and a second later, she was kissing him. For a moment, he was still, caught by surprise, and then he returned the kiss, his hands falling to rest on her waist as she wrapped her arms around his back.

Quickly, too quickly, the kiss grew heated as almost a decade of memories crashed over them; their history was a complicated one, and she couldn't deny that there had been a great many mistakes made by the both of them where the other was concerned. He backed her up until she was pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving hers, and he was kissing her almost hungrily, and she returned his kiss with a passion she didn't know she still had.

"Is this wise?" she asked, breaking the kiss and ducking her head.

"I thought you said you were tired of me running away?" he asked, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes as he gazed into her eyes.

"We made too many mistakes, you more than me, but even so, there were a lot of mis—"

"They weren't all mistakes," he said, and as he pressed his lips back to hers, she couldn't help but agree.

* * *

 _A queen crowned in white roses descended the ancient steps of her castle, her sword born aloft, her hair flowing out beside her. At her side marched her chess pieces and cards, preparing for the final siege. Ahead, the sky grew dark and tumultuous as the Hollow Ones marched through Marmoreal, and the black clouds spilled across the sky, steadily drawing closer to her castle._

" _Madness," said Mallymkum, perched upon her shoulder and clasping her needle-sized rapier. "This is madness."_

" _Madness or sanity, we must make our stand," she said, reaching out to run a finger down the dormouse's cheek. "There is nowhere else to turn."_

 _The Hatter tittered, a nervous giggle escaping his lips. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. She took his hand, feeling the wrinkles in his gnarled fingers. Long ago, she remembered being a young girl who'd taken that very same hand and descended into madness with the rest of them… but she was a woman now, and he was an old man._

" _Come, Hatter," she said, patting him on the back. "We've done dozens of impossible things in the past, and today, all we need to do is one. Surely, we can pull that off?"_

" _Indeed, Alice," he said, reaching up to adjust his hat. "The impossible is only impossible if you believe it is."_

 _._

"Reminiscing, are we?" asked Tsar Luna, startling her from her thoughts.

Glancing up from her seat beside the crackling fireplace, the Godmother took a delicate sip of her bourbon. Blinking to banish any stray memories, she turned her head. Tsar Luna stood in the doorway of his living room, leaning forward on his cane, and pensive expression on his narrow face. Silently, he walked towards her before taking a seat in his usual high-backed chair before adjusting his monocle.

"Pitch Black's return has stirred old memories," she replied, knowing better than to lie. "I was merely contemplating what became of the world the last time he rose."

"Wonderland was a tragic accident," said Tsar Luna, reaching for his cigar box. Clipping the tip of his cigar with a tiny silver knife, he brought it to his lips as he fished about his pockets for a lighter. Leaning back, he took a deep drag before blowing out a silver-blue smoke circle which hovered in the air above him.

Within the circle, images flickered, grainy and blurred, but the Godmother tensed all the same. The pictures Tsar Luna had conjured were familiar: the high towers of the White Castle in Marmoreal, the Hollow Ones tearing through the gates, the Hatter descending upon them with his top hat askew, the Bandersnatch ripping through their ranks like butter… and the queen, a girl all in white, duelling a man all in black upon the castle steps.

When the man swept out his scythe, the Godmother did not flinch, knowing what was coming. The queen gasped, her fingers growing limp as the Vorpal Blade slipped from her fingers, and blood poured from the gaping wound in her belly where the scythe had taken her.

"I remember Wonderland well enough without the need of a visual aid," she said stiffly, looking away as the images flickered and vanished. "There is no need for that nonsense."

"I felt a reminder is in order," said Tsar Luna. "After all, the grudge you bear Pitch is most unlike the grudges carried by your fellow Guardians. I would hate for you to rush off in search of vengeance."

"I am not stupid, Tsar Luna," she replied. "Though the younger Guardians are questioning why we don't corner the wretched creature at once. I cannot say I blame them, because the world below is in shambles as it is. Do you not hear the people pleading? I fear that if one more person calls out to me for aid, I might go quite mad."

"You are already mad, _Alice_ ," he said, chuckling. "And, should we act, what will happen when the next grand catastrophe strikes the world? Are we to bestir ourselves whenever they stub a toe?"

"I understand why we do not intervene for the little things, but this is very different," said the Godmother, rolling her eyes. "Pitch is ours to deal with, but his minions are not. Speaking off, how goes the search for the new potentials?"

Tsar Luna chuckled, a knowing look upon his face, but he did not reply. Irritated, she sipped at her bourbon, glaring in his direction. This was his way, like it or not. Whenever there was something that she dearly wanted to know, he would clam up after dangling the carrot, and like the horse, she'd rear up in frustration. Not this time, however. Tsar Luna could play his games, and she would play hers.

Her role was a simpler one. She granted the wishes of young children in need, though it had been a long time since a situation had been dire enough to warrant her personal attention. Her fairies acted in her stead, and she only descended from her starry manor for two reasons: The Council's call, or if someone caught her eye. The last one to accept her blessing would be around twenty now, she believed, and she wondered what had become of him. He had been a pure soul and, if she did say so herself, his wish had been one of the sweetest and most innocent she had ever granted.

She made it a point to rarely keep an eye on those she'd interfered with. Oftentimes, that would lead to her growing attached, and mortal lives were so fleeting. Over the centuries, she'd felt the keen sting of loss far too many times for her to count, and these days, she found it easier to simply set the young ones on the right part and leave it at that.

Leaning back in her seat, she pursed her lips, gazing into the flickering flames. The fire crackled, throwing up sparks, and as a log collapsed, ashes rained down upon the hearth.

.

 _On the steps of a ruined castle, a young queen lay in a pool of blood, clad all in sodden red. Still and cold, she gazed at the full moon with glassy, unseeing eyes, and a moonbeam came to rest upon her chest._

 _Slowly, she rose into the air, and her wounds stitched shut. Her armor fell away, replaced with a red dress, and her hair tied itself into a high bun. At her side, the shattered remains of the Vorpal Blade glimmered in the air as they shifted, growing molten, and reforged themselves into a wand._

" _Rise, Fairy Godmother," said a voice, and a jolt ran through her, her eyes flaring open as translucent wings, like those of a butterfly, unfurled from her back. Clutching at her chest, she gasped for breath, sucking in the cool night air as the ashes of Wonderland rained down around her._


	22. The Court of Thorns and Roses: Part 1

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

 **The Court of Thorns and Roses**

 **Part One**

* * *

"If I never have to get onto that carpet again, it will be too soon." Christopher gasped, doubling over and resting his hands on his knees as the world spun around him. He blinked, shaking his head to try and rid himself of the dizziness. "There are speeds that man was not meant to travel at."

Ali chuckled, reaching out to rest a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Everyone says that the first time around. You get used to it."

Grateful, Christopher nodded as he stood up straight, taking a deep breath and looking around. The castle courtyard was strewn with rubble and thorny vines, and there were corpses as well—the smell was putrid, but what turned his stomach more was the sight. The bodies had been torn apart, as if by a wild animal, but a great many of them didn't look quite human. Some of them were wooden, some glass, and others metal, and one had a chair leg in place of an arm, whilst another had a mirror seemingly growing out of her chest.

They'd died whilst succumbing to the curse, he realized, remembering how Chip's skin had turned to porcelain a few minutes before the man had transformed into a cup. A shudder ran down his spine, and he brought a hand up to his mouth, breathing through his sleeve to try and mask the stench.

"We need to get moving," said Nicholas, casting a wary eye on the ruined castle gates. "The Hollow Ones won't be far behind, and even if they're afraid of the castle, I wouldn't want to push our luck. Morgan?"

"No luck," said Morgan, sniffing at the air and looking ready to vomit. "The entire place reeks of death, and I can't get Alyssa's scent."

It was then that Christopher realized that Cornelius was oddly silent. Turning to look for the other prince, he frowned at the sight of his friend kneeling on the cobblestoned path, clasping something in his hand. Cautiously, he approached, and he sucked in a breath when he realized what Cornelius was holding.

It was a ring. A simple band of gold crowned in three emeralds, the ring was covered in dust and dried blood, but Christopher had seen it before, glittering on Alyssa's finger. Cornelius was trembling, staring at the ring as if the entire world had ceased to exist and it was all that mattered. _Oh, Cornelius_ , he thought, reaching out to rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Cor?" asked Nicholas, and Christopher realized that the other prince had accompanied him over to Cornelius' side. "What's—"

In that moment, many things happened at once. First, a blood-curdling howl tore through the air, coming from inside the castle. Second, a woman's mocking laughter echoed through the courtyard. Finally, the ground shook, and Christopher barely had the time to yelp in alarm before a thorny vine slammed into his chest, sending him hurtling across the courtyard. He struck a shed, groaning in pain as he sank to the ground. Dimly, he was aware of Nicholas diving out of the way of another vine, and then Ali was yelling something, and Cornelius was on his feet, barking orders, but the vines were bursting forth in all directions, walling Christopher off.

Rubbing his head to check for blood, he gritted his teeth as he climbed to his feet, panic filling his chest as he realized that there was no way to get back to the courtyard. The thorny vines were blocking his path, forming an impenetrable wall.

"Nicholas?" he called. "Cornelius?"

"Christopher!" Ali answered, sounding close by. "Where are you?"

Relief surged through Christopher as he walked as close to the thorny vines as he dared, and tried to find some gap in them to look through. Finally, he found one, and he leaned in, closing one eye and peering through with the other. The courtyard was empty, save for several jagged pillars of ice, and a few scorched vines. Nervously, he swallowed, trying to find Ali.

"I'm behind these thorns," he yelled. "Ali?"

"I'm up here!" Ali sounded both nervous and embarrassed.

Looking up, Christopher's eyes widened. At the end of a thorny vine, some twelve feel in the air, Ali hung upside down with a vine wrapped around his ankle, holding him firmly in place. His thick braid hung down like a rope, swaying in the breeze. He was keeping still, warily glancing at the vine, and Christopher didn't need to be a mind-reader to know the Prince of Agrabah was wondering how long before his weight broke the vine.

"I'm going to have to cut myself loose," Ali called, reaching for the dagger at his belt. "Catch me, okay?"

Christopher balked. He'd never caught anyone before, let alone from a height that could kill them if they happened to land on their head. Still, it wasn't as though there was anything else he could do. The vine already looked like it was giving way, and at least this way he'd be prepared. Standing under Ali, he outstretched his arms and called out that he was ready. Above him, Ali pulled himself up as though doing a crunch, and Christopher felt a slight flicker of envy at the other man's strength. Then, there was a flicker of silver as the knife cut through the vine, and Ali hurtled to the ground like a stone.

Somehow, he managed to twist around in midair, and he landed _on_ Christopher rather than _in_ his outstretched arms, knocking him to the ground with a loud _oomph_. The wind knocked out of him, Christopher groaned as Ali rolled off him and helped him up, and he was certain he was imagining the stars dancing in front of his eyes.

"Thanks," said Ali. "Nothing broken?"

Christopher flexed, testing his limbs. "Nothing, you?" He looked up at the vine, frowning as he realized it looked as though it hadn't been cut at all. No… it wasn't his imagination. Before his eyes, the vine was growing, creeping down in their direction. Just as he was about to yelp in alarm, it froze, coming to a halt.

He sighed in relief. "You see what happened to the others?" he added, the relief fading as he realized that only one of his companions was accounted for, and that both Chip and Pooh were still in Nicholas' backpack, wherever he currently was.

"The only thing I injured is my pride," said Ali, running a hand through his hair. "And, I saw Nick get yanked off by a vine in the direction of the servant's quarters. Morgan went after him, and then they disappeared behind the thorns. Neil… I think he got dragged into the castle, but I'm not sure."

"We need to find him, then," said Christopher, biting his lip. Morgan and Nicholas had each other, from the sounds of it, but if Cornelius was on his own… There was something or someone in the castle with them, he knew, based on that mysterious laughter from before the vines had attacked, and there was Alyssa as well.

King Adam had gone feral, he remembered. It was likely that she had as well.

"You can fight, right?" asked Ali, offering him a dagger.

"Not really," he replied, flushing as he accepted the dagger and tested its weight. It was about half the length of his forearm, and he didn't need to run a finger along the blade to know it was sharper than a razor. Warily, he held it out in front of him, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and making a light stabbing motion. There… that wasn't so hard. He reckoned that if push came to shove, he'd be able to stick something with the dagger well enough. It was much easier to handle than the sword he'd stolen when he'd first fled the castle, and there was less of a risk of him stabbing himself by accident.

"Something comes at us, you just stay behind me, then," said Ali, a flicker of annoyance in his voice. "Keep the knife though. You just might need it."

* * *

"You okay?" asked Nick, climbing to his feet. As he did so he winced, stumbling forward, and he'd have fallen had Morgan not grabbed him.

"A few scratches," Morgan replied, studying his boyfriend. "Your leg?"

"Ankle's sprained, I think," said Nick, wincing as he tested the foot. A spasm of pain ran through his face, and he grunted. "Yeah, definitely a sprain. Could be worse."

Gently, Morgan set his boyfriend back down, and glanced around. They were in the castle library, it seemed, judging by the high shelves laden with books... but how they'd gotten there was a mystery. It had happened very quickly. One second, he'd been walking across the courtyard to check on Cornelius, and the next, a hundred writhing vines had burst out of the ground. Christopher had gone down first, and he'd moved to help him, but then a vine had grabbed Nick, and Morgan had taken off after him as fast as he could run, thoughts of his other friends completely forgotten.

"Queen Belle's library," said Nick, looking around. "They say she has the largest book collection in the known world."

"I can believe it," said Morgan. The shelves were so high that one would need a ladder to reach the highest books, and spiral staircases led to landings upon which stood more shelves. There were desks as well, all but sagging under the weight of the books piled on top of them, and even in this sanctuary, the curse had wreaked havoc. Shelves had toppled, and books were torn, their pages covering the floor. The windows had been shattered, and the vines twisted around the room, their thorns glinting ominously in the dim light. Strangely, the sight of the ruined library made him angry. Before Nick, Cornelius and Alyssa, books had been the closest things he'd had to friends, and he'd read anything and everything he could get his hands on. To see them destroyed in such a manner...

He took a deep breath to collect himself. There were more important things to worry about.

"Christopher?" a small, muffled voice called from inside Nick's bag, and he hurriedly pulled it off his shoulders. Morgan watched as his boyfriend dug around inside, eventually pulling out Pooh, the talking teddy bear who somehow reminded him of Olaf, and Chip, who despite being a cup, somehow managed to look distinctly queasy.

"You two all right?" asked Morgan.

"I feel ready to lose my dinner, not that I've had any," grumbled Chip. The cup peered around and frowned. "Oh dear… the library. Lumiére must be rolling over in his grave."

"Where's Christopher?" Pooh asked, looking around with worry evident in his eyes.

"I'm not sure," said Morgan. "Truth is, he got yanked in the exact opposite direction as we did, so he's probably on the other side of the castle. Relax, I think I saw Ali go that way as well."

"Are you sure?"

"We're sure, Pooh," said Nick, patting the bear on the head.

"Come along, Pooh," said Chip, all of a sudden. "Let's hop back into the bag. I'm sure these two have better things to do than chat to the two of us, and if we stop wasting their time, they can go find Christopher, right?"

"Right," said Nick, leaning over and undoing the laces on his shoes. "I can't walk, so I'm going to fly, and we need to find the others before something worse does." As he spoke, a piercing howl rang through the castle, and he shuddered. "Or, before Alyssa finds us."

"We can take her," said Morgan, though he nodded all the same. Helping Nick up, he waited until Nick was floating a few inches off the ground before releasing his steadying grasp on his boyfriend. Warily, he glanced around. The truth of the matter was, they probably could take Alyssa between the two of them, even if she was in her transformed state, but they'd likely injure her in the process. That was something they needed to avoid, especially when they were so close to rescuing her.

"I'd prefer it doesn't come to that," said Nick.

In silence, the two of them walked through the library, and Morgan sniffed the air again. The room was thick with the scents of paper and dust, but the corpse stench was weak and almost non-existant. _There_ , he straightened, pointing at a door in the corner of the room. It had been left ajar, but through it, he could smell something that was vaguely reminiscent of Alyssa… only cobbled together with something oddly lupine.

As the approached the door, it slammed shut and a raven cawed. He took a step back, positioning himself in front of Nick on instinct, and in a second, he'd summoned his sword to his hand. There was a flicker of cold behind him, and a quick glance told him that his boyfriend had called his frost to circle the tip of his staff.

"I must admit, I never expected to lure so many flies into my web," said a cool, clear voice from the corner of the room.

Whirling around, Morgan narrowed his eyes as a woman stepped out from the shadows. She wore a black dress, ornamented with steel, and she held a sickle-headed staff in her hand. A raven perched upon her shoulder, and her cloak was made of feathers, hundreds of them rustling behind her as she walked.

"Who are you?" asked Nick, raising his staff in front of him. "And keep your distance."

"Heavens, has your mother never told you?" asked the woman, cocking her head to the side. "You think she would have. She killed my father in cold blood."

"Odile Swartzhart," Morgan said, glancing at the raven feathers and remembering his mother's lessons. Nudging Nick in the side, he added in a whisper, "She's Rothbart's daughter."

"Morgan Thorn, how delightful to meet you," said Odile, chuckling. "I'm an old friend of your mother's. In fact, I spoke to her before leaving Grimhilde. It was a strained meeting, but considering she was chained in the dungeons and drowning in iron, I can't fault her. If I'm feeling merciful by the end of this, I'll let you have a cell right next to hers. Push me, though, and I'll see you're both buried in the same grave."

"Liar," he yelled, disbelief and panic coursing through his veins. His mother… a prisoner? Never, not in a million years. Maleficent was the most powerful sorceress in the world, and a dragon to boot. He had seen her rip a thousand men to shreds without breaking a sweat, and the likes of this witch could not, could never, bring his mother to heel. But… iron. She had more fairy blood than he did, and it was her weakness… No, he refused to believe it.

"Morgan," said Nick, "She's baiting you. Calm down."

"Cruella's been plucking her scales you know. Soon, she'll have to make a new pair of boots for herself. I'm rather jealous. There's nothing more beautiful than a dragon's scales, and your mother's are such a beautiful shade of purple."

Something in Morgan snapped.

"I'll pick my teeth with your bones!" he roared. Lunging forward, his wings burst out of his back as fire spewed from his lips. Nick yelled, taken off guard, but Odile was already moving, rising into the air and swirling her staff out in front of her. Bands of red light cut through the air, but Morgan was faster, cutting her magic apart with his sword as he bore down on her.

She laughed, throwing her head back as she darted out of the way of his sword and ducked under a barrage of Nick's icicles. "Two against one is hardly fair," she proclaimed, lashing out a hand at the nearest wall. With a thunderous roar, the stone cracked, crumbling in jagged fragments, and he'd have been crushed had Nick not jumped onto him, knocking them both out of the way.

"I brought a few friends. I hope you don't mind," said Odile, flying out the ruined wall and rising into the sky.

Morgan climbed to his feet, his head ringing, and his eyes widened in alarm. Outside, the courtyard was teeming with Hollow Ones, and the castle gates hung off their hinges. Odile floated above them, high in the sky, swirling her staff above her and shrouding the entire castle in an ominous red glow.

"Don't worry!" She cackled. "Your friends aren't lonely. I've seen to it that they have company as well."

"Morgan, there are dozens of them," said Nick, narrowing his eyes at the Hollow Ones, not sparing Odile so much as a glance.

"Right, so how about you take the fifty on the left, and I take the fifty on the right?" he asked, feeling the furious bravado that had claimed him when he'd attacked Odile begin to fade.

A blast of red light came careening in their direction, and he shoved Nick out of the way, yelping as the floor beneath them gave way. Beating his wings, he floated in the air as the library came down around him, and he quickly checked to make sure his boyfriend was floating at his side rather than trapped in the rubble.

"How about you take them, and I take her," said Nick, gazing up at the witch. "Magic is more my strong suit than yours."

"Okay," said Morgan, and as Nick rose up, flinging a bolt of frost in Odile's direction, he descended, his sword glimmering in his hand as he slashed the first Hollow One in half.

 _One down_ , he thought, _Ninety-nine or so to go._

* * *

"What the bloody hell was that?" asked Ali, reaching out a hand to help Christopher to his feet. The entire castle had shaken, as though gripped by an earthquake, and they'd both gone tumbling down the narrow staircase to land in a heap at the bottom. If this kept up, he thought, they'd both be bruised and battered from landing on each other.

"Nothing good," said Christopher, glancing around. He blanched, the colour draining from his face until he looked like spoiled pudding. Raising a trembling hand, he pointed to the end of the corridor. "Ali."

Ali turned, taking a step back despite himself at the sight that awaited him. At the end of the corridor stood a tall man with a broad chest and arms as thick as tree trunks, grasping a greatsword in his hands. Purple-black light shrouded his eyes, and he jerked forward like a puppet. His skin was a sickly grey, and with a shudder, Ali realized his chest wasn't moving.

"Is that?" asked Christopher, sounding utterly terrified, and for once, Ali didn't blame him.

"A Faceless," he replied. "Oh, beloved Godmother, this is bad."

"They called me a monster. How right they were. This castle should be mine. This kingdom. This fallen queen should be mine," the Faceless intoned, jerking forward and baring its steel. "Now it shall be. Prince Charming. Prince Ababwa. Your end is now."

"It knows our names," said Ali, grasping his whip in one hand and his knife in the other. "We're famous, I guess." The alternate, more likely answer, however, was that this entire mess was a trap, and the lot of them had stumbled into it hook, line, and sinker. Too many things were adding up in his mind: the laughter, the thorns that had forced them to separate, and now the Faceless… Taking a step forward so he was in front of Christopher, who was grasping his own knife in front of him, his hand trembling like a leaf. He couldn't fight—he'd admitted as much earlier that day, but Ali could.

"Name yourself," he said. "I prefer to know the names of every person I best."

The Faceless laughed, a cold and bitter sound. Raising the greatsword into the air as easily as Ali might lift a twig, it brought down the blade with a speed that surprised him. A sharp crack echoed down the corridor as the blade gouged through stone as if it was silk, and the Faceless cocked its head to the side.

"Nobody hates like I do. Nobody loathes like I do. Nobody kills like I do." The Faceless swept its sword in front of it as it walked, leering. "I am Gaston LeGume, and you are dead."

With that, the Faceless rushed them, faster than Ali could have expected. Ducking out of the way, he spun around, his knife cutting a gleaming arc through the air. Stale blood burst from Gaston's side, noxious and black, but the cut didn't even slow him down. Dimly aware of Christopher ducking behind a small pile of rubble, Ali rolled out of the way of the greatsword, bringing up his dagger as he did so and slashing Gaston across the leg.

A hand closed around his braid and yanked, and Ali swore as he was wrenched off his feet, feeling as though his hair was about to be ripped out of his scalp. Using the braid like a rope, Gaston swung him through the air, and Ali grunted as he slammed into the wall. His knife clattered from his grasp, and he dragged himself out of the way of Gaston's greatsword, lashing out with his whip to try and keep the Faceless as bay.

 _Godmother above,_ he thought, catching a glimpse of Christopher ducking out from behind the rubble. _Run, you idiot._

But, Christopher did not run. Instead, surprising Ali, he leapt onto Gaston's back, wrapping his legs around the man's chest and clinging on like a monkey. Black blood burst from Gaston's chest as Christopher buried his knife right where the Faceless's heart should be, his eyes glinting with determination as he pressed a hand to Gaston's throat.

Gaston seemed to slow, his eyes growing slightly hazy, and Ali climbed to his feet and drew another knife from his belt. Whatever Christopher was doing, it seemed to be working, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind did Gaston reach back a hand, grasping the other prince by the head.

Ali's eyes widened, and Christopher yelled as he was flung through the air, slamming into Ali and sending them both sprawling to the ground. Coughing, Ali extricated himself from under the other prince, his head spinning, and he gritted his teeth.

"You should have run while you had the chance," he gasped, even though he was grateful that Christopher had stayed. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," said Christopher, climbing to his feet. "My Dreamtouch seemed to slow him down for a few seconds though."

 _Dreamtouch?_ Ali frowned, not knowing what that was or how it worked, but Christopher was right. It was the only thing that had slowed Gaston down so far. Even as they were speaking, however, the Faceless was recovering, lurching towards them with the damned sword held aloft.

"I'll need more than a few seconds to cut through that bastard," said Ali. "A knife to the heart and he's still going."

Then, he ducked out of the way of the sword, stumbling as he did so. His head still ached from the beating, and he was dizzy, more so that he'd realized. Gaston swung high, aiming for his head, and he dropped into the splits, grunting in discomfort as he did so. Balancing himself on his hands, he swept out both legs, aiming to knock Gaston off his feet.

"Such foolishness," said Gaston, not even seeming to feel the kicks. Reaching down, he grasped Ali by the head, lifting him into the air. He squeezed, and Ali screamed at the crushing pressure. _Godmother, how the fucking hell is he this strong?_ It felt as though his skull was about to crack like an egg, and he kicked out, his shoes glancing harmlessly off Gaston's chest.

"Put him down," yelled Christopher, springing forward and wrapping himself around Gaston's leg. Biting into the Faceless's trousers, he tore away the fabric with his teeth and clenched his fingers over the bared skin. Almost instantly, Gaston relaxed, if only a little, and Ali fell to the ground with a dull thud.

"Can't hold it… he's fighting," grunted Christopher, his expression strained. Closing his eyes, he bit his lip as Gaston tried to shake him off, jerking his leg about whilst his eyes glazed over.

Ali staggered to his feet, and without hesitation, he stabbed his blade into Gaston's throat. Blood spurted from the wound, splashing him in the face, but he ignored the disgusting taste and smell as he stabbed him, again and again and again, half-sawing and half-cutting, until at last Gaston's head rolled off his body and hit the ground.

The body fell backwards, dust rising as it crumpled onto the floor, and Ali wiped his face with his sleeve, gasping for breath. However, as he looked down, his stomach twisted into a knot, for somehow, the Faceless was still moving. Gaston's arms were reaching out towards them, his legs twitching.

Wordlessly, Christopher turned and grasped a morning star from a nearby suit-of-armor. Surprised, Ali could only watch as the Renvalian prince slammed the weapon into the Faceless' shoulder, grunting as he shattered the bones. Realizing what Christopher was doing, he turned, looking around until he spotted a hunk of jagged stone. Lifting it, he brought it down on Gaston, and for what felt like an hour, the two of them beat the headless creature with everything they had, until at last it stopped twitching.

"You okay?" asked Christopher, dripping with blood and swaying on his feet. "For a minute there, I thought he had you."

"He would have had it not been for you," said Ali, reaching out a steadying hand. He coughed. His head throbbed, and his body felt as though he'd just been placed between a hammer and an anvil. In that moment, as Christopher laid a hand on his shoulder and he did the same, he wasn't quite sure which of them was holding the other up."Thanks, by the way."

"I'd say anytime, but please, let's never do that again," said Christopher, a wan smile on his face.

Ali couldn't help but laugh, and no sooner did he begin, did he double over coughing.

* * *

Fighting in the air was more difficult than he'd expected, Nick realized. Flitting out of the way of a particularly nasty looking curse, he resolved that when this was over, he'd get over his aversion to flying, some way or the other. On land, he was graceful and light on his feet, but in the air, his movements were jerky and clumsy, and it took every bit of his concentration to keep up with Odile.

Below him, Morgan was making short work of the Hollow Ones. Half the courtyard was burning, and the other half was in ruins, and his boyfriend stood in the center of it all, cutting a bloody path with his blade. Every so often, he'd leap into the air, beating his wings whilst spewing out a fresh jet of flames, and it was almost terrifying. He'd never quite seen his boyfriend like this, and it was a sheer contrast to the tactless dork he'd fallen in love with.

Still, he couldn't focus on the fight below him, not when Odile was bearing down on him, her cloak of feathers billowing around her like wings as she swept through the air. A bolt of red light tore out of her staff, and he flung out of a stream of frost from his own. Their magic collided in midair with a noise like thunder, and blackened snowflakes cascaded to the ground.

"So, the little prince thinks he can face me?" said Odile, raising an eyebrow. " _Gehenna!"_

Nick's eyes widened as spirals of red light burst from Odile's staff, surrounding her. The light formed rings around her, spinning and whirling, and suddenly, they began to spit pebble-sized bolts of scarlet light at him. Sweeping out his staff in front of him, he erected a barrier of ice, catching the first shots.

The ice broke like glass, crackling and being chipped away, and Nick snapped his finger to reinforce it. The barrage never seemed to end, however, only intensify, and when his barrier finally shattered, he only had a second to react before the first shot caught him in the shoulder. He yelled in pain, feeling his skin blister at the blast, and then another shot hit him in the chest, and then three more in the leg, and soon enough, he was caught in a storm.

"No more," he shrieked, his eyes flaring as his frost erupted from his palms, enveloping him in a cocoon. Blood dripped from his skin, and his clothes were shredded. Body aching, he felt ready to drop, but he couldn't give up now, even as he felt the shots rip into his cocoon. Tsar Luna, it hurt… everything hurt, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to turn back the clock and go back to his early years, when his biggest concern had been trying not to get caught in whatever mischief he'd cooked up with Cornelius.

Cornelius… A memory sprang to mind, unbidden, and almost immediately, an idea popped into his head. As his cocoon gave way, he rose into the sky, flying as fast as he could, and aimed his staff at Odile. Once, when he'd been a child, his cousin had visited during the summer and been disappointed that there'd been no snow. In his efforts to try and create some, he'd discovered something more… ice could cut as sharp as razors, especially this particular spell, the one Cornelius had christened, _Diamond Dust._

Tiny crystals of ice ripped through the air from the head of his staff, thousands of them, and they rained down on Odile. Her shots flew at him, but his ice crystals caught them in midair, freezing them halfway through their trajectory and sending them falling to the ground below like glowing hailstones. Odile screamed as the crystals hit her, slicing her skin and biting into her flesh, and Nick drew on his magical reserves, expending every last bit of himself as he intensified his assault.

"The little prince knows he can beat you," he taunted, feeling a faint tugging in his stomach as he broke off the spell. Odile looked barely conscious, sagging in the air, and the arm clutching her staff hung limply at her side. One more blast from him should finish her, he thought, and he pulled back his staff, drawing deep as he fashioned a large lance out of ice.

She laughed. Throwing back her head, Odile squealed with mirth, her eyes glinting.

"You? Beat me? I, Odile Swartzhart, have brought kingdoms to their knees when you were still a drop of snow on the tip of your father's icicle. You overestimate yourself, boy, and now you will learn, to your sorrow."

Nick flung his ice lance, and time seemed to slow as it hurtled through the air. Then, Odile moved with a speed that surprised him, catching the end of the lance with her staff and somersaulting in the air, dragging the lance with her. His ice seemed to blacken, burning with a reddish glow as she launched it back at him, and he let out a yelp of alarm before hastily erecting another barrier.

The lance hit his barrier, shattering them both in an instant, and he heard the explosion before he felt it. Without hesitation, he brought his staff out in front of him, channeling his frost into the wood to try and shield himself. A wave of red light slammed into him with the force of a sledgehammer, knocking the wind from his chest. His staff trembled, shuddering in his grasp, and to his disbelief, it shattered, and the splinters dug into his palms. He screamed in agony as the blast ripped fresh blood from his blistered skin, and then he was falling. Wind rushed around him, and faintly, he tried to fling out a bolt of frost, hoping to fashion some snow beneath him to try and cushion him.

His frost flickered around his fingers and died, and he blinked, his eyelids heavy. Odile cackled above him, and the world seemed to slow… and then two arms caught him, jolting him back to full awareness.

"Morgan?" he asked, his voice faint, barely louder than a whisper.

"Stay with me, Frosty," Morgan said, glaring up at the witch in the sky. His wings beat behind him as he descended to the ground, and Nick was acutely aware that the Hollow Ones were dead, lying in charred pieces all around him. He wanted to laugh, but all that escaped his lips was a strangled cough, and he tasted blood on his lips.

He hissed in pain as Morgan set him down on the ground, and he could only watch as Morgan took a step forward, standing in front on him. With a grunt, he doubled over, and he _grew_. His pants ripped first as his legs grew thicker than the stone pillars in Arendelle's gallery, and then his boots burst apart to reveal clawed feet. Lurching forward, Morgan roared, and horns burst from his skull, his skin growing thick and scaly as his wings grew to span the entire courtyard and a tail shot out of the small of his back, thick and covered in spikes. A dragon… He'd known, Nick had alway known, and he'd seen the partial transformations, but this…

Almost giddily, he wondered if Morgan would someday let him have a ride on his back.

" _Stay with me, Frosty,"_ Morgan's voice whispered in his head, and he nodded through the pain, fighting the growing darkness in the corners of his vision with everything he had. " _Stay with me._ "

* * *

The rose gardens of Amoré were said to be the most beautiful place in the world, and even in their ruined state, they held a strange allure. The statues were broken, the pools and fountains cracked, and the thick thorns had all but ripped the place apart. Like the kingdom, the roses were dying, and wilted petals were thick beneath his boots. For a long time, he'd dreamed of these gardens, and of exploring them with Alyssa at his side. She'd spoken of them at length over the span of their relationship, and it had been a dream of his to kiss her under the arch of roses.

That, like so many other dreams, had died, but Cornelius knew that at least one still remained. Saving Alyssa… rescuing her from the curse, that was still one thing he could accomplish… one dream that he could make come true.

Nocking an arrow in his bow, he carefully made his way through the gardens, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. A soft growl echoed through the ruined maze, and he tensed, biting his lip. The sound was distinctly different from the guttural grumbles of the Hollow Ones, and the growl had been akin to the sound made by a wolf when it was warning of approaching predators.

"Alyssa?" he called. "'Lyssa? It's me, Cornelius."

The growl grew louder, and he stilled. His wife was nearby, judging by the sound, but he still couldn't see her. Cautiously, he took a few steps back until the remains of a marble wall was right behind him, giving him a modicum of protection from being jumped. Keeping his bow outstretched before him, ready to let fly an arrow at the first sign of danger, he took a deep breath to steady himself.

A howl tore through the air as the splintered trellis wall in front of him shattered and a red blur flew at him. Ducking, he fired his arrow into the sky to clear his bow, and he swung the bow as though it was a staff. The beast yelped as he caught it in the side, splintering his bow whilst knocking the beast off balance and sending it crashing to the ground. Gasping for breath, Cornelius got back to his feet, and he raised a wary hand in front of him.

Alyssa had already recovered, and she was approaching him on all fours. Slaver dripped from her muzzle, and her lips were pulled back in a feral expression that showed each and every one of her fangs. Her reddish fur was matted with dirt and crusted with dried blood, and her claws dug deep furrows in the ground as she approached. In this moment, it took everything in him to remind himself that this was not just a beast… this was his wife… this was Alyssa, the girl he loved.

Then, his eyes met hers, and the world seemed to fall away. Even ferocious and warped, her eyes remained the same shade of warm brown that they'd always been, and he felt his fingers go limp. Hurriedly, he regained his grip on his bow before it fell, and he took a wary step away, setting down the bow in front of him.

"Alyssa, it's me," he said, "Cornelius. Please…" His voice cracked, and he swallowed. "Please come back to me."

The only response was a feral growl, and her hackles rose along her back as she prepared to pounce. Instantly, Cornelius threw himself aside as she went flying through empty air, and by instinct, he grabbed his bow as he rolled. Nocking another arrow into his bow, he aimed it at her. He let loose a warning shot, purposefully missing her.

He needed to remain calm, and he needed to get a grip of himself. He held her life in his hands as well as his… and he knew full well which was more precious, to him at least. Alyssa… the answer came clear as day. It was always her, it had always been her. Somehow, their friendly squabbling and constant teasing had turned to love over the years, and she was the moon to his sun. He would willingly die every night just to see her rise.

His bow trembled in his grasp, and he knew that he needed to nock an arrow at once. If he didn't, then she'd kill him… she'd tear out his throat without a moment's hesitation. She had lost herself. He knew that. The curse that had been cast upon Amoré was a powerful one, and Alyssa would never be free of this form unless he could break it… or, and the thought was whispered from the darkest recesses of his mind, he freed her in another way.

It would be a mercy to save her from this life. All it would take was one shot between the eyes, and she'd be free of her insanity. He could do it. Maybe. With one arrow, Cornelius knew that he could save them both. No. Yes. Absolutely not. He dismissed the thought. The sun would rise in the west and set in the east before he'd raise so much as a hand against her, and he couldn't.

The world grew slow around him, and he was hyper-aware of every sound and movement. A locust chirruped. A rose petal fluttered to the ground. A leaf rustled in the evening breeze.

The beast drew close, and he let the bow fall from his hands.

"I can't," he whispered to Alyssa. "I can't hurt you. Even like this."

She lunged and he went down, her paws slamming into his shoulders as he felt her breath upon his throat. His head cracked against the paving stones, and the world swam around him as she pinned him down. Her fangs dug into his shoulder, and he was vaguely aware that he was screaming, and that something hot and wet was spurting from his skin, drenching his clothes, but he couldn't—wouldn't—fight her off. Not if that meant hurting her.

If this was his end, then he, Cornelius Fitzherbert, would meet Tsar Luna with a smile on his face, for the truth of the matter was that there was nothing he wouldn't give for Alyssa.

He closed his eyes, ready to die. Instead, he felt the weight that was on his shift, growing lighter, and a loud howl tore through the air. His eyes flared open, and he saw Alyssa twist back, his blood staining her muzzle, but she was changing. Fur shed as her bones cracked and twisted, elongating and shortening as necessary, and her howl changed into a scream as locks of red hair sprouted from her head.

The world grew very still in that moment. Above him, the full moon gleamed, and he was suddenly aware of a soft lullaby, almost like a song, and the darkness was growing, swirling around his vision. He felt cold… so cold, and every sound save for the lullaby was a faint whisper.

"Cornelius," Alyssa whimpered, clearing the fog in his vision with her voice. Not seeming to realize she was naked as she slumped against him, shuddering. "Cor, please, no. Godmother, no. Please, Cor, you can't. Don't you dare die on my right after saving me. Don't you bloody dare."

"I saved you?" he asked, his voice faint, the world beginning to grow dark. "That's good, yeah?"

"Cornelius?" she screamed, her voice sounding wrenched from her throat. He felt her hands fumbling for his throat and shoulders, clamping down on the holes where her teeth had pierced his skin, and he felt his blood slipping through her fingers.

"Cornelius!"

She shrieked, her voice sounding fainter than a whisper.

Then, the world went dark.


	23. The Court of Thorns and Roses: Part 2

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

 **The Court of Thorns and Roses**

 **Part Two**

* * *

"Cornelius!"

The scream rang out through the quiet castle, and before Christopher realized what he was doing, he was running, Ali at his side. The broken walls of the castle blurred around him, and it took all of his concentration not to trip over rubble and thorny vines.

"That's Alyssa," said Ali, panting for breath. "Sounds human."

"I figured," grunted Christopher, "This way."

As they ran, a deafening roar rang through the air, shaking dust off the ceiling. Skidding to a halt, Christopher glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening, and he felt his windpipes tie themselves into knots. Whatever that was… it made King Adam sound like a mewling kitten, and he dearly didn't want to run into it anytime soon. Then, as the roar died down, he heard Alyssa's shrieks echoing in the distance, mercifully coming from the opposite direction as the roar.

"One crisis at a time," said Ali, taking off again.

Nodding, Christopher followed. Eventually, he came to a familiar door, though it was currently hanging off its hinges. Shoving it aside, he found himself in the rose gardens of Amoré, and he sucked in a breath at the desolation. They'd been so beautiful the last time he'd seen them, but… he bit his lip. The doom had come to Amoré, and he shouldn't be surprised that nothing had been spared.

Quickly, he took stock of what was going on. Cornelius was on the ground, deathly pale, and Alyssa was kneeling over him, her hands clamped over a gruesome wound upon his shoulder. She was naked, he realized, flushing as he rushed to their side, ignoring Ali's cry of alarm. Averting his eyes from her, he looked around for something, anything, and when he could find nothing, he reached for the bag on Ali's back. Digging about in it, he pulled out a shirt.

Pushing Alyssa's hands out of the way, he pressed the shirt against the wound, hoping it would be enough to stop the bleeding. It looked as though a wild animal had mauled Cornelius… as though a _beast_ had sank its fangs into the soft flesh between his throat and shoulder and bitten deep. A thought came to mind, and he dismissed it at once, even if it made all too much sense. Too much sad, sad sense.

"Christopher? Ali?" Alyssa asked, only now seeming to realize they were there. "How?"

"You didn't think we'd let Neil come rushing in without backup, did you?" asked Ali, tossing her the bag. "Put something on, I think you're going to give Christopher a stroke."

"How bad is it?" asked Ali, nudging Christopher in the shoulder. Leaning down, Ali pressed two fingers to Cornelius' throat, frowning. "His pulse is strong, and he's breathing. Let me see."

"I don't know, I'm not a healer," said Christopher, shifting the bloodstained shirt from the wound. Beneath him, Cornelius groaned, and Alyssa whimpered across from him, but Ali simply sucked in a breath and darted in, knocking Christopher aside and bending over the wound.

Blood pulsed from the wound, and deftly, Ali moved his fingers over it, poking and prying and narrowing his eyes until he finally breathed a sigh of relief. Slumping back, he replaced the shirt and pressed on it, the tension seeming to leave his shoulders.

"It's a flesh wound," he said, and Christopher exhaled, letting out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. He was not a healer, nor did he have much knowledge in the healing arts, but that much he did know.

"Thank Tsar Luna," whispered Alyssa, reaching out to cup Cornelius's face. "I couldn't… If I… Oh, Cor."

"Punctured skin, broken bone, and the flesh is torn up, but he'll heal. He just passed out, I'd say," continued Ali. "It's good to see you again, by the way. 'Twas just a bit worried."

Christopher leaned back as they spoke, catching his breath now that he was sure Cornelius would be okay. It had been a long few weeks, and today had been the worst of the lot. He was bruised, battered, tired, and hungry, and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and go to sleep. However, he knew that he could not. Alyssa may have been rescued, but even as the three of them sat around Cornelius, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

The roar from earlier… the Faceless… the thorns and the mocking laughter and the Hollow Ones… They were linked, he realized, and glancing around, he realized just who was here in the ruined castle of Amoré. Alyssa, the heir… but she'd just been the bait. Cornelius, Ali, Nicholas, even himself… they were the heirs to four of the most powerful kingdoms in the world.

It was a trap… It had to be.

"We need to find Nicholas and Morgan," he said, his voice low. "We need to leave."

"Nick and Morgan came as well?" asked Alyssa, her eyes widening. "You… you all came for _me?_ " Her eyes were misty, and mercifully, she'd dressed in Ali's clothes, preserving her modesty and Christopher's eyes. Despite everything, he snorted. Life was full of japes, and it figured that the first pair of breasts he'd ever seen had belonged to Alyssa Rose of all people.

"I'd have come alone," Cornelius whispered, and Christopher started. Glancing down, he saw that the other prince had opened his eyes, and though he was still frightfully pale, he was at least talking. Reaching out, Cornelius grasped Alyssa's wrist, and Christopher suddenly felt as though he was intruding on something private. Looking away, he met Ali's eye and nodded.

"We need to leave," he whispered, ignoring the murmured conversation between Cornelius and Alyssa in the background. "This… I have a very bad feeling, Ali."

"Agreed," replied Ali. Turning, he snapped his fingers in the couple's direction, clearing his throat. "Look, Alyssa, we're all very glad you're safe, and Neil, we're all very glad you're alive, but right now, we need to find Morgan and Nick, and then we need to get the hell away from this place."

"My parents…"

"There's been no word of them, and if your father was still here, we'd have come across him by now. I'm sorry, Alyssa," said Ali, not unkindly, though the urgency in his voice didn't diminish in the slightest. "Honestly, we didn't even know you were still alive until we found Christopher and he filled us in."

" _Found Christopher?"_ she asked, eyes widening, and she turned to look at him. Christopher shifted, and just then, another roar rang out through the air. Whatever it was, it sounded furious, and the roar was followed by a thunderous crack, as though a wall had just given way.

"It's a very long story, and we need to go," he said, helping Cornelius to his feet. Cornelius groaned, hanging off his shoulder like a wet bag of rice, and Christopher gritted his teeth as he steadied the other prince. "We need to move, now."

* * *

When the chips came down, Christopher truly did rise to the occasion, thought Ali. Leading the way through the ruins, he ignored the aching in his own body, keeping a firm grip on his knife. Behind him, Christopher was half-carrying, half-dragging Cornelius along with them, and at his side, Alyssa walked, though she looked ready to keel over if he so much as breathed in her direction. Still, she was clasping Cornelius' sword in her hands, and if memory served, she knew how to use it.

"You're limping," said Alyssa, falling into step beside him. Her eyes were wide and nervous, and her expression was drawn, but dammit, it was good to hear her voice. It had been years since they'd seen each other, and whilst the circumstances of this meeting were terrible, Ali was a firm believer that friendship was one of the few things in the world that distance couldn't break down.

"When we got split up, Christopher and I found ourselves having to fight a Faceless. Maybe you've heard of him? Pompous, very large and hairy, likes to speak about himself in the third person?"

" _A Faceless?"_ Alyssa squeaked, and he started in surprise. It wasn't often that she let on how scared she was by a situation, and to be honest, he'd never heard her squeak before. If anything, it caused the tension on his nerves to grow.

"We put him down, but we got pretty banged up in the process, to be honest." Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added, "If it wasn't for Christopher, I'd be dead."

Then, just as she opened her mouth to speak, the wall in front of them shuddered and broke, falling to pieces as something very large crashed into it from the other side. Ali's eyes widened, and he took a wary step back as he took in the sight of wings, scales, horns, and a tail, and a single word sprang into his mind. _Dragon._ Tsar Luna have mercy, but he didn't think he had it in him to fight a dragon right now. Then, just as quickly as the dragon had appeared, it had taken flight, lunging into the air after what looked like a tiny black speck.

"Is that Morgan?" asked Cornelius, his voice faint. "Bloody hell."

"Bloody hell indeed," said Ali, picking up his pace. They'd told him… Nick and Cornelius had both told him that Morgan was a dragon, and he'd seen the guy's wings, but holy shit, he hadn't expected _that._ Morgan's scales were a strange shade of purple-red, and he was enormous, his wings all but blotting out the sun. _Nick's dating that?_ The thought sprang to his mind, unbidden, and then he was climbing over the ruined wall, biting his lip as the jagged rubble dug into battered skin.

His heart sank as he took in the courtyard. The place had been a ruin when they'd got there, but now it looked like hell itself. Scorched corpses littered the ground, and it took him a second to realize they were Hollow Ones, and most of the walls seemed to have come down. Fires burned, filling the air with smoke, and in the sky above them, Morgan was fighting a woman, and Godmother be good, but from what Ali could make out, she seemed completely in control of the fight.

And, in the corner of the courtyard, lying prone on the ground, was Nick. Putting on a fresh burst of speed, Ali rushed to his friend's side, feeling the distinct urge to vomit as he took in the other prince. Nick's hair crusted with so much blood that it looked redder than Alyssa's, and his skin was covered in blisters. There were bits of wood digging into his arms, and his clothes were in tatters, hanging off his body by a few spare threads.

"Nick," he said, shaking the boy and wincing at the feel of blistered skin beneath his hands. His chest was rising and falling, however faintly, and that meant he was still alive, didn't it. "Nick, wake up!"

The pearl he wore around his neck burned, and for one desperate moment, he considered crushing it. _Crush it, and wherever you are, I'll come_. Instantly, he dismissed the idea. Things weren't looking good, not in the slightest, and he'd be damned before he dragged Aquaria into this mess as well.

"Godmother," swore Alyssa, dropping to her knees beside him. Hurriedly, she pressed her fingers to Nick's wrist, checking for a pulse. She nodded at Ali, and he heard retching behind him. Turning, he saw Christopher doubled over, vomiting into a pile of ashes, and had it not been for the experiences the pair of them had shared, he'd have rolled his eyes. Cornelius was on the ground, looking ashen, and he crawled over. Reaching out, he pressed a hand to Nick's chest.

Light burst out of his fingers, spilling over Nick's chest, and whatever Cornelius was doing seemed to be helping. A tinge of colour returned to Nick's face, but he didn't move.

"When we were kids... heart gets cold when he's very ill... sun keeps it warm," gasped Cornelius. "I can't heal like my mum, but I can warm him… keep his heart warm... keep it beating"

Ali nodded, and a chill ran down his spine as another roar ripped through the sky. Looking up, he saw flames spilling from Morgan's throat, and red light flickering through the sky. And, then the there was a growl, and his attention turned to the castle gates, and if it was possible for his heart to sink any lower, it certainly did in that moment.

Hollow Ones… They lurched through the shattered gates, but they weren't alone. Spectral black horses cantered at their sides, and there were other creatures with them, black ghosts with clawed hands and red eyes. _Nightmares_ , he realized, _and Fearlings_ … He remembered the stories from his childhood. He'd always liked the scary stories, and his father had indulged him, but… these weren't stories. As they approached, he felt a sinking in his gut and a terror in his heart. The happiness, the hope, the memories of being happy… they were leaking away, dripping from him like so many droplets of sweat, and he bit his lip. These were beings of pure terror. To be around them… But how could they exist… The Nightmare King was a myth.

"Alyssa," he whispered, his voice breaking as he drew his knife and lashed his whip. "Nick, Neil, and Chris… they can't fight, not like this."

"I know," she said, her voice trembling. She stood at his side, her husband's sword held aloft. "You still as good as I remember?"

"I hope so."

* * *

Terror gripped Alyssa as she leapt into the fray, swinging Cornelius' sword with all the strength she had left to her. The blade bit deep into a Hollow One, cutting through rotted flesh and bone like paper, and the monster lurched forward. Throwing herself out of the way, she grunted as she hit the ground. Godmother, she felt weak. The curse had done a number on her, and she felt as though she'd been shoved through a meat grinder. And, beneath it all, the fear, the memories of what she'd done when gripped by the curse, the blood and the screams as she hadn't been able to control her actions. She'd been a slave to the beast, a prisoner within her own body, and it had shattered her, inside where it didn't show.

But… she glanced behind her, at Christopher, clutching a knife in his hand and standing over Cornelius and Nick, and at her husband, who was desperately forcing his light into Nick, keeping her best friend alive despite his grievous injuries. And, at Morgan, who was flying in circles above them, locked in what looked like the fight of his life with the sorceress.

She couldn't let them down. They'd come for her, risking their lives in the process, and she refused to let them die, not now that the scales were reversed and it was them depending on her for salvation.

Rising to her feet, she slashed her sword hard enough that the blood flicked off it, and then she lunged. Cutting and hacking and slashing, she tore through their ranks with all the fury of a beast, and she cursed the fact that she didn't have her rapier. Cornelius' sword had been masterfully crafted, of that there was no doubt, but the sword was unfamiliar, and it just didn't feel right. She shook herself, dispelling all distracting thoughts from her mind as she stabbed her blade into a spectral horse, sinking the sword in up to the hilt. The horse burst apart like sand, and even as she pulled back her sword, it was reforming, piecing itself back together bit by bit.

"They just don't stay down," yelled Ali. His whip cracked as he lashed it out, snaring one of the black ghosts and yanking it into his dagger. It burst into black smoke, and just as quickly as it did, reformed.

"Then just keep putting them down," she yelled, spinning out of the way of a cleaver and kicking a Hollow One in the back of the knee. It stumbled, and that was all the opening she needed to slit it open from waist to neck, and as its twisted spine popped out of its back, it fell to the ground and, thankfully, didn't return.

* * *

Christopher knew he needed to do something. Ali and Alyssa were keeping what he had decided where the dark forces at bay, but they were flagging. Ali could barely stay upright, and Alyssa looked ready to keel over if something so much as touched her, and there were so many more of the creatures spilling in through the gates. Just as the thought crossed his mind, one broke past Alyssa, one of the black horses, and charged him.

Squaring his shoulders, he thrust out his dagger, catching the creature in the throat as it bowled him over, knocking him to the ground. Cornelius was yelling somewhere nearby, but Christopher couldn't focus on that right now. Desperately, he raised his hands above his face, trying to keep the creature's hooves off his face, and by instinct, he drew on his Dreamtouch. As he grasped the horse's leg, it burst, the black sand glimmering like flecks of warm gold as they rained down over him, and to his surprise, it didn't reform.

He didn't understand. His Dreamtouch just knocked a person out by forcing a pleasant dream into their head. It didn't… well, it didn't destroy, but these horses… _Nightmares._ Suddenly, it all clicked into place, and as he climbed to his feet, he glanced around the courtyard. There were so many of them, rearing and kicking, but there was one bearing down on Cornelius and Nicholas, and he could not allow that.

Jumping forward, Christopher grasped the Nightmare's flank, and his fingers hummed with his Dreamtouch as it neighed and burst, turning into the same golden sand as the first. Cornelius was staring at him, jaw hanging agape, but he couldn't stop now. There were so many of them, too many of them, but he needed to stop them. Once, he would have run… but these were his friends… well, at least he considered them friends, and he couldn't run.

Alyssa shrieked as she went spinning through the air, the sword flying from her grasp, and Ali grunted as a Fearling grasped his braid—he really should have that cut, Christopher thought—and yanked him off his feet. Too many, thought Christopher, seeing them all around him, and he couldn't get them all... Too many. Above him, Morgan roared, and hot blood rained down from the sky, and as he looked up, he saw that there was a deep cut across the dragon's left foreleg, and the sorceress was cackling. And the Fearlings were surrounding Ali, and he was kicking out and punching, crying out in pain, and Alyssa was dragging herself across the ground as a Nightmare bore down on her...

His friends… His first and only friends. Christopher could not allow this. Anger brimmed up in him, hot and heavy, and for the first time in his life, he let his rage take control. His fingers buzzed as he drew on his dreams, and he yelled as something in him seemed to snap, like a rubber band pulled too taut. Gold mist poured from his hands as he fell to his knees, and he threw back his head, yelling so loudly that it hurt his ears, and his dreams spiralled around him like a hundred whips, lashing out in all directions.

Blood ran down his nostrils, and he felt a steady pounding in his temples, but he refused to give in to weakness. Not now. He couldn't. He had to keep going. He had to… had to… keep… going.

* * *

Warm light bathed Alyssa as she dragged herself out of the way and, as she rolled over, a shimmering white whip struck the Nightmare in the snout. It neighed and exploded, showering her in grains of golden sand, and something in her seemed to ignite. It was a strange feeling, fuzzy and calming, almost refreshing in how gently it stoked the fire inside her.

Energized, she climbed to her feet, and shook her head, trying to gather her bearings. Whips of white mist lashed out across the courtyard, and the Fearlings were scattering like gnats, the Nightmares running as quickly as they'd come. The Hollow Ones remained, massive and monstrous, but they seemed to be keeping their distance, caught off guard by whatever it was. And, then she heard the yelling.

Turning, her breath caught in her throat as she saw Christopher. He was on his knees, and there was blood running from his nose, his ears, and his eyes. His hands were splayed open on either side of him, his arms outstretched, and the whips were coming from _him_. Not understanding, she looked around, trying to find Ali, and she saw him clambering to his feet, covered in bite marks and scrapes, with grains of golden sand thick in his hair.

Christopher yelled again, and she turned her attention back to him, rushing over as fast as she could. His eyes had rolled back in his skull, she realized in horror, and all she could see were the whites. Grasping him by the shoulder, she shook him, trying to snap him out of it, but it was like he was in a trance.

"Christopher," she said, shaking him as hard as she could. "You're killing yourself. Stop it."

"Save my friends," he murmured, his voice dull and toneless. "Can't stop. Can't run again. Can do it."

"You already saved us, Christopher," she said, and she was dimly aware of Ali beside her, reaching out to try and help. No… Christopher was her responsibility here, more than the others. He was here because of her. He'd never have been torn from his home if it wasn't for her. She'd been selfish, she'd thought only of herself, and because of her actions, he'd been dragged to Amoré and caught up in the entire mess.

And, despite it all, he'd saved her life. He'd saved Ali's life twice now. He'd saved Nicholas and Cornelius. He'd probably saved Morgan as well. He'd saved them all. Christopher was good, he was pure, and he deserved none of this.

And she would not let him die like this.

"Christopher," she said, shaking him again. "Christopher, snap out of it."

"No… can't… never had friends… can't lose these ones… protect them."

"If he won't snap out of it, snap him out of it," said Ali. "He's dying, Alyssa."

"One more thing to apologise for when this is over," Alyssa whispered, and her heart was breaking at the words that had come from Christopher's lips. She snapped up an elbow, catching him in the face, and the whips of white mist flickered and died as Christopher slumped backwards, unconscious but alive.

As she moved forward to check on him, a thunderous roar rang out through the sky, and she looked up in time to see Morgan plunging through the air, his wing twisted at an odd angle. As he fell, he seemed to shrink, and she noticed his eyes were closed. The sorceress he'd been battling cackled and descended after him, but Alyssa could do nothing as Morgan hurtled to the ground.

* * *

He was falling.

Curse Odile and curse her magic, but she was powerful. At first, her spells had glanced off his scales, unable to penetrate his formidable defences, but no sooner than she seemed to realise had she intensified her assault. He had not expected the extent of her power, and he had underestimated her, and now he was paying the price.

As he fell, he felt the change come over him, and he shuddered. In his dragon form, he could likely survive the fall, but… he'd break every bone in his body if he landed as a human. But, he was in so much pain, and he was so tired… he couldn't maintain the transformation, try as he might.

The ground came rushing up to greet him, and he closed his eyes. _I'm sorry, Nick._ And, just as he readied himself for what was to be the bloody end he'd always expected he'd one day meet, he felt himself be engulfed in cold. An enormous pillow seemed to break his fall, and he opened his eyes to see he was sinking into a huge pile of snow. _Nick… Godmother above, I love you._

Digging himself out, he groaned in pain. A deep cut ran along his arm, staining the snow red, and he'd taken a lot of blows in the fight with Odile, all of which would no doubt leave bruises, and worse still, it felt as though one of his wings was broken. Gingerly, he prodded at his back, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming in pain. Yes, definitely broken beneath his skin.

As he escaped the snow, he felt a pair of hands on him, helping him up. _Ali_ , he realised, judging from the scent, and as he looked around, he realized that things were worse than he'd expected. Cornelius was on the ground, ashen-faced and looking like standing up would probably kill him. Christopher looked like he'd been knocked out. Ali was limping beside him, and Alyssa was swaying on her feet… and Nick… His boyfriend's eyes were cracked open just a sliver, and his arm was outstretched with frost dancing around his fingertips, but he still looked as though he was sitting at death's door. _Godmother_ , _how'd he even have the strength to break my fall?_

"You're naked, by the way," groaned Ali as they reached the group.

Morgan flushed, collapsing to the ground as soon as Ali released him. Well, there was nothing he could do about that right now—typically, he used a bit of magic to keep his clothes intact when he transformed, so that they'd return to his body whenever he shifted out of his draconic form, but he hadn't wanted to waste the energy this time. Well, it could be worse. Considering the state of things, it wasn't like anyone would actually be interested in what he looked like nude.

"Odile," he muttered, pointing behind him as he crawled to Nick's side. "She's…"

"I must say, I'm impressed," said Odile, and Morgan whipped his head around, groaning at the jolt of pain in his temples. "I haven't had such a good workout in years… but all good things must come to an end."

The sorceress descended, her cloak swirling around her, and the feathers spilled into the air. Growing sharp as daggers, they danced around her, spinning and whirling, and her eyes grew wild with victory. Helplessly, Morgan called his flames to his lips, but the second his fire left his mouth, it gutted out like a candle in the wind. A flash of light burst at his side, and Odile took a step back, shielding her eyes, and then Cornelius' head hit the ground, his eyes closed. _The last of his power_. Tsar Luna above, but they were all exhausted.

"Resilient indeed," said Odile. "Now, you all must die."

"You want them, you go through me," declared Alyssa, coming to stand in front of them all. She held no weapon, but she squared off regardless, assuming a defensive stance. Her shoulders bristled, and she bared her fangs, her eyes glowing a sickening gold, and her nails grew long as claws.

"And me," said Ali, moving to stand beside her, drawing what looked like the last knife from his belt.

"If you insist." Odile swept out a hand, and the both of them went flying, slamming into the wall behind Nick with twin groans. They slid to the ground. Blood leaked from Alyssa's temple, and Ali lay still, a trickle of red running out the corner of his mouth. Morgan drew back his head. Putting all he had into his flames, he spat a tongue of fire at Odile, but she simply extended a hand.

The flames swirled around her fingers and extinguished, and Morgan slumped, reaching out to grasp Nick's hand. Godmother, he didn't think he could so much as blow out a wisp of smoke at his point, and everyone else had already been taken out. _We should have stayed in Arendelle,_ he thought, looking at his boyfriend. _We should have built that cottage of ice and forgotten the world._ It was a pleasant dream, he knew, and a lie. They'd never have turned their backs on their friends… they just wouldn't, and it figured, that the first time he had real friends, and a real love, that he'd lose it all.

"So," said Odile. "Who dies first?"

A thunderous roar echoed through the sky, shaking the castle itself, and Morgan looked up at the sky. _No… impossible… but_ … he knew that roar. It was louder than any sound he could have made, and the wings… those wings were nearly three times as large as his. Green flames billowed through the air, and the Hollow Ones vanished, crumpling to ash in seconds.

"Impossible," shrieked Odile, whirling to meet the new threat, and Morgan couldn't help but grin. _Who dies first? Why, Odile, I think that would be you._

His mother descended from the skies, changing as she did so. Green smoke billowed around her as she landed, and when she stepped out of the fog, her face was contorted with fury. Despite everything, despite knowing she was his mother and that she loved him, and that she would never hurt him, he felt a shiver run down his spine.

His mother was clad in her black armor, and her horns glinted in the gloom. Green light crackled from the head of her staff, and she directed it at Odile, her jaw tight.

"I think it's time you picked on somebody your own size, little bird," said his mother. "Now, shall I lock you in a cage, or shall I pluck your feathers and broil you into dog food?"

Odile shrieked, red light blazing from her staff, but his mother was faster, so much faster. Green light surged through the air, and then Odile was screaming, thrashing about in the air whilst locked in coils of green light, and she was shrinking, feathers bursting from her skin as her clothes dissolved to dust. Writhing in the air, Odile's eyes gleamed like hot coals, and she lashed out her taloned hands. Half-bird and half-human, a wave of red light burst from her, shattering his mother's spell, and then the sorceress was fleeing, batting her wings as fast as she could as she launched herself into the sky.

"Leaving so soon?" proclaimed Maleficent, flinging a fireball after her. It missed, but his mother was already marching towards them. With a flick of her wrists, clothes appeared on his body, and then he felt a cool burning spreading across his leg as the wound stitched itself shut.

Her eyes were worried as she knelt beside him, reaching out to press a hand to his brow. Coughing, he shook his head, reaching up to grasp her wrist.

"I'm fine," he croaked, "Help the others. Please. Save Nick. Please."

The darkness grew in the corners of his eyes, and he could fight unconsciousness no longer. He slumped, and the world went black.

* * *

When Nick came too, he was in a strange bed, and the room he was in was rocking. Idly, he rubbed at his head, slowly sitting up in bed and feeling at his skin. To his surprise, the blisters were gone, and though his skin felt a bit tender, it was as smooth and unblemished as it had been before he'd fought Odile. The room rocked again, somewhat rougher than the last time, and he looked around.

He was in the cabin of a ship, he realized, and judging by the anchors emblazoned on every scrap of fabric in the room, it was an Aquitanian vessel. How? Blearily, he tried to recall what had been going on when he'd lost consciousness, but all he could remember was Morgan falling, and him exerting what little strength he had left to save his boyfriend.

Morgan! His eyes snapped open like saucers, and he looked around. Was he safe? He needed to see him, to make sure. Had his spell worked? It had to, because the alternative was too difficult to contemplate, but where was he? And, the others? They'd been fighting, or more to the point, they'd been getting their asses handed to them, but...

"My son is resting," said a cool voice, and Nick started as Maleficent stepped out of the shadowy corner, a curious expression on her face. She looked rather casual, he thought, with her horns off and her dark hair falling down to the small of her black. Rather regal, if he did say so himself. Despite being relieved to hear that his boyfriend was okay, he was also rather flustered… this was Morgan's mother, and although he'd met her before, that had been before he'd been dating her son.

"I have taken the liberty of healing your wounds," said Maleficent, nodding as she took a seat beside his bed. "The headache will pass in time. That simply comes from expending more magic than you actually have. And yes, I have tended to your little posse as well. They will all make full recoveries. The Charming boy may need several days, though. I'm not quite sure what he did, and nobody else seems to know either, but it did take me nearly an hour to stop the bleeding in his brain."

"Thank you?" said Nick, not sure what was going on or why she was being so… nice, and he was still confused as to how they were on one of King Eric's ships in the first place. And… what had Christopher done to do that much damage to himself? Hazy memories of raised voices flickered through his head, and he groaned at the headache that accompanied them.

"You sound surprised?" Maleficent chuckled. "I daresay, I have a reputation, and I will not deny that I have earned it and that I am very proud of it, but I do love my son, and he seems to have grown quite attached to the lot of you. That, to me, makes you all somewhat important, at the very least."

"I don't know what to say, really," said Nick. "But thank you. I don't remember much, but I think you may have saved us all." A tentative smile spread across his lips, and he extended a hand to Maleficent. She looked at it, raising an eyebrow before accepting his handshake. Well, it was a start, and he sincerely doubted she was the type to accept hugs.

"The teacup in your bag is most interesting, but I am afraid that I cannot reverse that particular curse. The teddy bear, on the other hand, is a chatty little thing, and he assured me he was not a human turned into a toy, so I haven't looked into it all that much." Maleficent sounded almost… awkward, and Nick smiled. Well, at least they had something in common here. Rising to her feet, she nodded. "I suppose you want to know how I found you?"

He nodded.

"As you may know, I spent the majority of my time as a spy in the dungeons of Grimhilde, and after I managed to escape, I needed to warn the council of certain… things," she said, stroking her cheek as she spoke. "The closest kingdom I was certain was still free was Aquitania, and King Eric had already received word from Queen Rapunzel that a small band of princes, along with my son, had run off to play at being heroes. Leaving Aquitania, I flew to Amoré, and that is that."

Nick frowned, feeling as though there were things she wasn't telling him but decided not to push the issue. Maleficent nodded, rising from her seat as if to take her leave, and he leaned back into his headboard. He needed to go out and check on his friends, and Morgan, because even if Maleficent said they'd been tended too, he needed to see them to be sure, and to try and piece together the full story.

"Maleficent?" he asked as she left. "You know then, about Morgan and I?"

"I daresay I heard you call out his name whilst I was healing you enough times to put two and two together," she said, pausing at the door. "Why do you ask?"

"I… nevermind."

She sighed. "For the longest time, I believed that my son was cursed to never have the happiness I wanted for him. Having me as a mother has been difficult, I know, and there are some things in life I cannot give him, simply because of who I am. I have spoken to him, and he's told me that the two of you are very close. You've seen his scars, wounds that he got because of my crimes."

Nick swallowed. He had not expected Maleficent to be so… well, she sounded less like the queen of darkness and more like his own mother right now, but, he supposed it made sense. Honestly, though, he didn't think he was currently up to having a heart-to-heart with his mother's boyfriend, especially when what he really wanted to do was get out of bed and check on his friends. Ali, Alyssa, Cornelius, Christopher, and most of all, Morgan… Maleficent had said they were fine, but he wanted to see for himself.

"Has a cat gotten hold of your tongue, or are you so surprised that I am capable of matronly affection that you've been stunned speechless, Prince Arnaldalr?"

He started. "Just Nick is fine. And, I was just thinking. I'm sorry."

"Nick," she said, as though testing the name. "Oddly informal, but perhaps that's for the best. Now, you must be tired, or else desperate to see your comrades, so I will take my leave. But, just so we're clear, my son cares for you very deeply, and you don't seem like the bad sort, but if you break his heart, I'll snap you like a twig."

A shiver ran down his spine as he climbed out of bed, watching the woman leave. Glancing about the floor until he found his shoes, he slipped them on, and by instinct, he reached out for his staff. All too quickly, he remembered that it had been destroyed, and he felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. His staff… it was one of the only things he had from his father, and Jack Frost had promised him that it was unbreakable. But, it had broken, and it was as though he was missing a part of himself. The world swam around him, and he realized he needed support.

Flicking his wrist, his temples ached as his frost poured from his fingers, fashioning a walking stick for him to lean on. Magic… he needed to go easy for the next few days. He'd drained himself fighting Odile, and it would take a few days before he was back to usual. Leaning on his stick, he made for the door.

As he stepped into the corridor, he glanced around. There was a row of doors running down each wall, and he didn't know which rooms housed his friends. Trusting his judgement, he limped forward, reaching for the first door. If he was here, then his friends must be in the rooms closest to him. It only made sense to keep them all together, especially since they'd all been wounded.

He opened the door, and he bit his lip at the sight that awaited him. It was Christopher's room, but his newfound friend looked completely and utterly drained. Pale as the sheets he was lying on, Christopher slept, and at his beside sat Ali, reading a book. Ali looked up, eyes brightening as they fell on him.

"You're awake," he said. "I'd hug you, but it hurts to move."

"Then why aren't you in bed?" asked Nick, not moving from his place in the doorway. "And how is he?"

"Well, he doesn't really have anyone, you know? You and Morgan have each other, and Cornelius and Alyssa have each other to lean on, but well, Chris doesn't have many friends, none if what he says is true, so I figured I'd keep him company while he healed. He'll be fine, but I reckon he just overextended himself. It's hard to explain." Ali scratched his head. "You know when you were a kid, back when all our parents where in Oloria, and you could just make snowballs? I think Christopher's still at that level, if that makes sense, but the stress in Amoré forced his magic to come rushing out at like a blizzard level? I don't know. I don't have magic."

"I understand what you're saying," said Nick, coming to stand beside Ali. Just as he was about to flick his wrist to create a chair, he caught himself and opted to sit on the floor instead, crossing his legs beneath him. Christopher… Nick hadn't known what to make of the Renvalian prince when they'd met him in Amoré, and he'd honestly struck him as the weak link of their little group, something they really couldn't afford to have when in such danger. But, it had been obvious that there was a loneliness in Christopher, one that he'd easily detected.

He sighed. Lonely hearts seemed to find each other with ease. It had been the same with him and Morgan. Looking up at Ali, he forced a smile to his face.

"He doesn't have to be alone anymore, though," said Nick. "He has us now."

"I dare say you're right," said Ali. "It's a vicious world out there, and we princes need to stick together."

As he spoke, a loud snore echoed through the air, and Ali raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the far wall. Nick frowned, because that was new, and it would seem he'd have to wait to check up on his boyfriend, all things considered.

"How in the world do you get any sleep if your boyfriend snores like that?" asked Ali, and the question, so light-hearted and normal after all they'd been through, had Nick stifling a chuckle. Eyes glimmering with mirth, he turned to his friend.

"The snoring is new," he replied, "I suppose I'll just get ear plugs if becomes a norm."


	24. One Night in Aquitania

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

 **One Night in Aquitania**

* * *

In the cold, grey light of dawn, Christopher stirred. Stifling a yawn, he opened his eyes and looked around upon realizing that he was lying in a soft bed. He was making it a habit of making hazy voyages across the sea and waking up in unfamiliar rooms whilst dressed in new clothes, he realized with a sigh. His head throbbed as he sat up, trying to gage his whereabouts, and he shuddered. The memories were blurry and indistinct, and he had no idea as to what he'd done.

His Dreamtouch… he'd been using his Dreamtouch, but it wasn't in a way that was familiar to him. It had terrified him, but… he'd saved them, and as he tentatively felt about inside himself, he sighed in relief. Nothing felt off about his powers, and as usual, they were restrained and under his complete control. It had been a freak accident, he told himself. Whatever had happened, it had likely been caused by the stress and strain, and him drawing too deep. When it came to magic, you simply didn't pull as he had, because especially in those like him who had never really trained themselves in how to use it, magic could push back.

"Morning, kid," said a tinny voice, and Christopher started, turning to the end table. A smile spread over his face, and he leaned back against his headboard.

"Chip," he said, breathing a relieved sigh. "We made it, didn't we?"

"I don't know about we, given I spent the majority of the adventure tucked in a bag praying I didn't crack, but you definitely got us out of there, kid." A soft tinkle escaped the cup, and Christopher realized Chip was laughing. He grinned. It was good to be safe, and for the first time in a month, there was no imminent danger. No, they were safe, and the hell of Amoré was behind them.

"Where are we?" he asked. "Where's Pooh? How are the others? Are they okay?"

"Slow down, kid, one question at a time. First, we're in Aquitania, and King Eric's been most hospitable. The others are all here. Pooh's actually… met with an old friend, to hear him say it, but he should be back soon to fill you in, and well, I'm a cup and I don't really get out much, but from what I've heard, everyone's made full recoveries."

Christopher frowned. He was relieved that they were okay, and if he was to think of all the places in the world that he could have sought refuge in after Amoré, Aquitania would be rather high up on the list. It was a coastal kingdom, and he did like the beach, but more to the point, King Eric and Queen Ariel had always been nice to him. Their children, on the other hand… Prince Caspian was an insolent rogue, and Princess Aquaria was a spitfire, but he wouldn't really need to see either of them. More to the point, it was safe. There would be no curses in this kingdom, thank you very much. Queen Ariel had seen to that when she'd become Queen, and both Aquitania and Atlantica were wrapped in wards.

And, his friends were okay as well. Last he could remember, only Ali and Alyssa had been standing, and Nicholas had been at death's door. Cornelius hadn't been much better, and as for Morgan… Christopher shivered. He was still coming to terms with the other boy being a _dragon_ , but he'd been losing the fight against the sorceress. But, that was behind them now. They were alive. They were safe.

"Pooh found an old friend?" he asked, latching onto the one cause for concern in Chip's reply. "Pooh doesn't have old friends. He has me and the toys."

"Forget it, kid, I don't want to ruin the surprise," said Chip. He glanced at the clock. "She should be around soon, actually."

 _She?_ Christopher frowned in confusion, but he climbed out of bed nonetheless. For a minute, the world spun around him as he stood, and he had to grasp the wall for support. Then, the dizziness passed, and he began to look around. It was a small room, painted pale green, and other than the bed, there were two closets and a desk. Wandering around, he opened the nearest closet, smiling at the sight of fresh clothes.

"Bathroom is through that door," called Chip, "The other one is for leaving the room, and don't worry about your change of clothes this time. King Eric had his healers see to you, and you were drenched in blood and dirt."

"Thanks, Chip," he said, grasping a fresh change of clothes and heading for the bathroom. After all he'd been through, the thought of being cleaned by unfamiliar hands didn't even faze him, but he still felt terribly sticky and, as he brought a hand to his hair, he winced at how greasy it felt. He needed a bath.

As he waited for the tub to fill, he slid out of his shirt and turned to look at the bathroom mirror and flinched. _Tsar Luna above_ , he looked like crap. He'd always been lean, but that had come from being a vegetarian with a high metabolism, and his month in Amoré had cost him pounds he couldn't afford to lose. His ribs jutted out through his skin, and his shoulders looked like two bony spikes. His lips were dry and cracked, and his hair was a robin's nest, to say nothing of his face. _Godmother_ … he wasn't vain, but he'd always considered himself somewhat attractive, but now his cheeks were sunken, and his eyes were ringed in dark circles, and for the first time in his life, he had a beard.

"Well, first things first, that needs to go," he said to himself, opening the bathroom closet and ferreting about for a razor. Finding a sealed pack, he pulled one out, closely followed by a tub of lather.

An hour later, he emerged from the bathroom, feeling suitably refreshed and rather hungry. The hot water had been very soothing, but it had also been black by the time he was done scrubbing, and he'd had to refill the tub twice to make sure he was completely clean. He'd cut himself shaving, but that much he couldn't help, for his hands had trembled whilst he'd tried to steady the razor.

Chip was asleep, he noticed, looking around the room. Then, he started, the wind rushing out of him because there was someone sitting at the desk... and she was the last person he'd expected to see here.

"Mother?" he asked, disbelief ringing through his voice. A dozen emotions surged through him, and not a single one of them was good. The predominant one, however, was anger, and as it took hold, he clenched his fist at his side. What in the Godmother's name was she doing here? This entire mess, all of it, was her fault. Well, maybe not all of it, he reasoned, but every part of it that involved him, at the very least.

"Christopher," said Queen Snow, her voice soft and cautious. "You were in the bathroom when I arrived, and I thought I'd wait. It's… good to see you awake again."

"Oh, you like me awake?" he asked, gritting his teeth. "Funny, I remember you having your people knock me out and keeping me drugged for a week."

His mother flinched. Biting her lip, she turned away. "That wasn't me, Christopher. I've been a prisoner in Grimhilde Keep for over a year."

He started, not sure what to make of this development. _How?_ His mother… no, he'd have known if she'd been replaced, and yet, she hadn't. Was this to be her excuse? No, he wouldn't accept it. His mother was a cruel, vain woman, and she was not digging herself out of this grave. Christopher was utterly and completely done with it. Amoré… he'd seen things, and he'd done things, and he'd survived things he'd never thought he'd be able to, and he was stronger now than he was when he'd been clobbered over the head and dragged across the sea. His anger spiked, and he walked over, grasping his mother by the shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"Look me in the eye when you talk to me," he said, not liking how enraged he sounded. "You owe me that much at least after all you've put me through."

His mother flinched, and she seemed to diminish in his grasp. Her shoulders sagged, and she hung her head. "I… I suppose I deserve that. I've never been the best mother to you. But, it wasn't me, Christopher… surely even you know I'd never _physically_ cause you harm. It was Regina. I've been her prisoner for a year, and she posed as me… and…" she trailed off.

Christopher glared, eyes glinting. She was telling the truth, he realized, but… that just made things worse. For an entire year, the most wanted witch in Renvale, the Evil Queen herself, had been cavorting about _his_ home, and yet… He clenched his fist so hard that his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood, and he slammed a fist onto the desk in frustration.

"Fine, I believe you," he said. "But, you know what the worst part is? Before I knew, I believed it was all you. Never, for a single moment, did it cross my mind that the orders didn't come from you. Because you're right. You were a horrible, horrible mother, and no matter what Regina did as you this past year, it was perfectly in character for you."

"Christopher…" His mother sighed, tears glimmering in her eyes. "I… I'm sorry, and any explanations I give would just be excuses, but… we're all we have now. Your father is dead, and your sister has been accused of regicide and patricide. As per Renvalian law, she has already met the gallows. You're all I have now, son, and I can't lose you as well."

Christopher took a step back, feeling as though he'd just been punched in the gut. His father… and Margaret. King Charming had never been the perfect father, but he'd been good enough over the years, shielding him from the worst of his mother's abuse, and on the few good days, they'd gone riding together. Dead… it couldn't be… And his sister… they had never seen eye-to-eye, but he loved her all the same, despite everything. _All she'd ever wanted was to escape. She tried to run, to throw herself at every prince who batted an eye in her direction, because she wanted out._ She couldn't be dead... but why would his mother lie to him about something so easily disproved? No… And, all at once, he was reminded whose fault it was.

Regina had somehow replaced his mother, and she was no doubt responsible for the death of his father and sibling. But, Queen Snow was no angel, and wouldn't that have made it just so easy for the Evil Queen to slip into her shoes. Because, he had believed his mother capable of what he now knew were Regina's actions. And, didn't that just paint a picture.

"Get out," he said. "Get out."

"Christopher, please, I'm your mother. We're all the other has."

"If you're all I have, then I have nothing," he said, turning away from her and drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. "I won't say it again. _Get out_."

His mother rose from the chair, defeat etched across her features, and she seemed so old in that moment, stooped and spindly-thin. Walking to the door, she paused halfway, and turned around. He glared, but she wore a determined expression on her face, and as she walked towards him, he felt his eyebrow twitch.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and to his surprise, she pulled him into a hug. He didn't react, remaining stiff as a statue as he embraced him, because for one, he didn't want to hug her. And, for another, he couldn't remember the last time she'd hugged him, no matter how hard he tried. "I'm sorry, and I love you. I have always loved you in my own way, Christopher, even if I didn't show it."

"I needed to hear that when I was a boy," he replied, and something ached in his chest as he broke free of her embrace. "I needed you to hug me when the entire court would laugh at me for having Pooh with me. I needed you to dry my tears, not cause them. I'm not a boy anymore, and I don't need you now."

"Is that it, then?" his mother asked, tears running down her cheeks. "Is there no repairing the damage, Christopher? I will do anything, anything, to make it up to you, but don't burn this bridge. I can't lose you as well. You and your sister… thinking of getting back to the two of you and making amends was all that kept me alive in that dungeon."

Christopher turned away, not wanting her to see him cry. _Margaret… Father…_ A dozen memories came rushing to him as he considered his mother's words. First, he was nine, and he'd been dressed in motley by his mother, because he was to be the court jester since he apparently didn't behave like a prince. And, then he was twelve, crying himself to sleep after she'd set his sketchbooks on fire. Then, sixteen, and he'd been dressed in rags and forced to sleep in a supply closet, just because he'd taken a fancy to Priscilla. And there were more, so many more.

It wasn't in his nature to hate, and it wasn't his way to get even, but the bridge she was referring to had been burned a long time ago. If she wanted to rebuild it, then that was on her.

"I can't say that I'll never forgive you, because maybe someday I will," he said, "But right now… I don't have it in me to accept your apology, not after Amoré, not after all the years you've made me miserable."

His mother sighed and nodded before she left the room, and as the door closed behind her, Christopher heard sobbing. It was only a few minutes later that he realized that the sound was coming from him.

* * *

It was her fault. Everything that had gone wrong, from the downfall of her kingdom to the scars running along her husband's shoulder, was her fault, and the realization had hit Alyssa like a ton of bricks. If only she had been honest from the start, then Christopher may never have been drawn into the entire mess, and if she had said something, anything, then maybe Cornelius and the others would never have to come after her in the first place. Tears sparkled in her eyes as she brought her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.

From her perch on the window seat, she could see all of Aquitania, and under the night sky, it was beautiful. The stars glimmered across the smooth black sky, and a thousand lights shone through the city, reflecting of the dark waters of the sea. There were ships on the horizon, looking like silhouettes against the night, and salt water flowed from a thousand fountains. There were merpeople in the canals, swimming beside the gondolas, and at the harbor gates flew two flags. On the left, the silver anchor of Aquitania, emblazoned across a white field, and on the right, the golden trident of Atlantica on a blue flag. The twin cities of the sea… she'd always heard of them, but she'd never visited, and now she wondered why it had taken such a desperate situation to bring her to King Eric's door.

She bit her lip, memories of the events in her homeland assaulting her from all directions. Everything… everything was her fault. _It's what brought the beast curse down on this family in the first place,_ she'd screamed as she flung her crown at her father's feet, and then, she'd done the same thing that he had, only the curse she'd brought down on her home had been so much worse. What had the sailors said? Amoré, the Kingdom of Nightmares.

And, if it wasn't bad enough that she'd brought ruin to her own kingdom, that she was responsible for the deaths of almost every one of her citizens, she had nearly gotten her friends killed as well. Why had they even come for her? Images flashed before her eyes: Morgan, falling from the sky, and Nick, blistered and barely breathing, and Ali, cracking his head against the stone walls, and Christopher, his eyes rolling back in his sockets as his magic threatened to devour him whole. And, through it all, one image never faded: Cornelius, letting the bow fall from his hands as she leapt onto him, sinking her fangs into his shoulder. She could have killed him… She could have murdered the man she loved.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she clenched her fists.

"Alyssa?"

She looked up, closing her eyes as she saw Cornelius sitting up in bed. Her crying must have woken him, and she cursed herself for not keeping silent. It was not that she didn't want him to see her weep, far from it. The truth was, he needed his rest, and he wouldn't get it if she kept disturbing him.

"I'm sorry I woke you, Cor," she said, pursing her lips and turning to stare out across the city.

"Nonsense, I want to be here for you," he replied, climbing out of bed. With a very slight limp, he made his way across the room, and settled down opposite her on the window seat, and she wished that he hadn't. It hurt her, more than he could ever know, to see him like this. Clad in his shorts, she could see every scar and every bruise, and she knew that it was because of her that he had them.

The scars left by her fangs were pink and raw across his shoulder, spreading from the end of his throat to the top of his arm, and he'd likely have those for the rest of his life. A second scar, long and jagged, ran down his leg, beginning at his knee and running down to his ankle. She wasn't sure where that one had come from, but it hadn't been here before Amoré.

A fresh sob escaped her lips, and she shuddered as he pulled her into his arms. Trembling like a leaf, she clutched onto him as though her life depended on it, and he ran his hand down her back. It all came rushing out at once: grief for her parents, guilt for what she'd done, anguish at the harm she'd inflicted on her friends, self-loathing at the scars she'd left upon her husband… He weathered it all without a word, just sitting with her in silence as she wept.

"Why?" she asked when the silence became too much and she could no longer bear the nagging question in her head. "Why do you still love me?"

Cornelius frowned as he pulled away from her, and he reached out to dry her tears with his thumbs. Leaning in, he pressed his brow to hers, and he sighed.

"You're asking how I could still love you," he said. "I could ask you what made you think I'd ever stop?"

A strangled sob escaped her mouth, and she hung her head. Her throat hurt from crying, and her chest ached. Good. She deserved the pain. "Everything," she whispered. "All I've done. I brought the curse down upon Amoré. I'm responsible for it all. And, you… I nearly killed you, Cor, and what about the others? You should have left me in Amoré. I… I deserved to be a beast."

"Hey…" He hugged her. "Never say that again. All that proves is that you're flawed, 'Lyssa, and I married you because I loved you, and it wasn't because you're perfect… it's because you're perfectly imperfect, and you know something? You're selfish, but I knew that, and you're conceited, and I knew that as well. You have a very quick temper, and you're reckless. But, and here's the but, you're also brave."

"I'm not…" She looked away, not knowing how to reply. His words had touched her, dispelling some of the blight upon her soul, but… _I don't deserve him._ The realization came all at once, and she closed her eyes. She really didn't. Cornelius was the sun, bright and warm and cheerful, and she was the dark side of the moon, bringing shadows and grief wherever she went.

"You're brave because you were dead on your feet, and when Odile came at us, you still rose to put yourself between her and the rest of us, knowing she'd just taken out Nick and Morgan, and let's face it, those two were our muscle. That's pretty selfless, I think. And, what about your Debutante Ball? Remember when Queen Aurora implied your father should sleep in a kennel? You were half her height, and she was the queen of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world, and you went right up to her and gave her a piece of your mind, and I dare say I've never seen her look quite so affronted. That's brave… brazen, actually, but I figure they're the same."

"Cor…"

"I'm not done," he said, cutting her off with what she thought was his attempt at a stern look. "You can't say you're the only one with flaws and then ignore all the good parts. I'm overly inquisitive to the point of being nosey, and I'm reckless. Hell, Alyssa, I'm a zombie and you're a beast, but at the end of the day, maybe we're just kids, but I love you, and I married you because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, and I came to rescue you because it's you, and I'd like to think you'd do the same for me."

"I would," she said, looking back to meet his eyes. "I'd have come for you. No matter what stood in my way, I'd have come for you, Cor."

"And, if you'd have done that, wouldn't that mean you're not all bad?" He smiled, and the sound that escaped her lips was half-a-chuckle and half-a-sob. Her husband was a lovable goofball, but there were times, like now, when she was reminded that he was so much more.

"I really don't deserve you," she whispered. "I love you, Cornelius."

"I love you too, Alyssa," he said, brushing the hair out her eyes. "And as for deserving, I don't think anyone does, really. I'm the best."

She giggled despite everything, the weight of her shoulders lightening, just a little, and her heart gave a soft twinge as he leaned in to press his lips to her hers. The kiss was soft, and she melted into his arms, closing her eyes as he lifted her into his lap as though she was as light as a feather. Delicately, his hand ran down her back, pausing at the laces of her nightdress, and for a moment, she wondered if he was going to undo them. Then, his hands slid down her body, resting on her waist, and he was lifting her as he stood.

"Cornelius, what are you doing?" she asked, as he moved them to the centre of the room and put her down.

"Wiping away your tears," he replied. "We never had our wedding dance, did we?"

Was he serious? She bit her lip as she lifted her left hand to take his, placing her right upon his shoulder as he clasped her waist. There was no music, and she'd just spent the entire night weeping. Her eyes must be red and puffy, and her nose must be raw from wiping it so often. And, they were in their nightclothes, and there were a dozen other little things that were just so off, but…

She relaxed, a wan smile spreading across her lips as her husband began to hum rather tunelessly, and she swayed in time to his movements. It was Cornelius, and even when the days were darkest, he never failed to make her smile.

"I am yours," he whispered as they swayed, "and you are mine, and we're in this together. So when you're crying, I'll dry your tears. Because, I love you, and I'll love you until my dying day."

There was nothing she could say that would match what he had said, and so all she did was lean in and kiss him. Light glimmered from his fingers, and she gasped as a disc of light appeared above them, almost like a spotlight, and she couldn't help but laugh into the kiss. Godmother, she loved him. He was a goofball, but it didn't matter, because he was _her_ goofball.

And, the light dimmed above them as she lifted her husband into the air, giggling at his squeak of alarm as she spun him around, and when she set him down, he kissed her again, leaving her breathless as his hands fumbled with her laces, and she cupped his cheek as she pulled him down to bed beside her.

Everything was falling to pieces, and she was still coping with so much, but as his hands moved across her body, and his shorts slipped off his waist, and his lips moved against hers, she let it all go, and for just one night, allowed herself to forget everything but the man she loved.

* * *

"Hey, Ali, you seen Pooh?"

Christopher was worried. It was not like his bear to be away for so long, and Chip refused to budge on the subject. Whomever this old friend was, it just didn't make any sense. Frowning, he waited for Ali to reply. The recent news from his mother, confirmed by King Eric, had left him reeling, and now more than ever, he just needed his teddy. It was embarrassing to admit, but even though he had friends now, it didn't change the fact that Pooh was his best friend, and that Pooh had been there for him through it all.

Ali looked up. He'd been playing chess with Prince Caspian, who hadn't so much as acknowledged Christopher when he'd walked into the room. Not that he cared, mind you. He had the feeling that the Prince of Aquitania didn't like him, and after spending so many of his years around negativity, Christopher refused to be drawn into any more. He had more than enough on his plate as it was, and he didn't need to add Caspian to the mix.

"Yeah, haven't you?" said Ali. "I think he's in Aquaria's old playroom on the third floor."

"Grown men playing with teddy bears," muttered Caspian, "Bloody stupid."

Ignoring him, Christopher focused on Ali. "No, I haven't."

Running a hand through his hair, he bit his lip. He didn't want to interrupt their game, but he really didn't know his way around the castle, and he didn't want to get lost. Shooting a pleading look at Ali, not wanting to say it out loud, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, waiting.

"I'll take you," said Ali, getting to his feet. Leaning over the board, he moved his queen. "Checkmate, by the way. Reset the board, I'll be back in a bit."

Caspian's reaction, however, threw Christopher for a loop. The dark-haired prince upended the board, sending pieces flying in all directions, and he sank back into his chair, glaring. His cheeks burned as red as the roots of his hair, and if looks could kill, Ali might very well have keeled over there and then. Ali rolled his eyes, and mercifully, whisked Christopher away before the situation could become any more uncomfortable.

"Ignore him," said Ali. "He's a nice enough guy—"

"Could've fooled me," said Christopher, rolling his eyes. If anything, Prince Caspian reminded him of his sister, but he nipped that thought in the bud. If he thought about Margaret, he'd cry, and he was tired of tears. All the same, his throat grew thick, and he looked away, hoping for a distraction.

"Thing is, he was born around the same time Princess Melody died," said Ali, shifting awkwardly. "Aquaria was a few years old at the time, and she became heir so she learned to rule and everything. But, Caspian, being the new baby so soon after his eldest sister had died, well… I'm afraid Queen Ariel and King Eric spoiled him quite a bit, and well, he's never had to grow up."

"That's a shitty excuse," said Christopher, rolling his eyes again. "How is he your best friend again?"

"It's complicated," said Ali, shrugging. "I'm with Aquaria, so I have to make the effort, and what can I say… he's grown on me over the years. I wasn't the nicest guy either, back in the day, and I suppose I feel a bit responsible for him now."

Falling silent, Christopher let his friend lead the way through the castle. Aquitania was a coastal kingdom, and it showed. The walls were covered in murals and seashells, and almost every portrait and tapestry depicted the sea in some way, shape, or form. It was so different when compared to both Renvale and Amoré—his home was elegance, all white marble and decorative vines, with antique furnishings and gold ornaments. Amoré had drowned in roses, but the castle had a distinct charm. Aquitania, on the other hand, was a rustic beauty. It had been founded by sailors, and to this day, that reflected, from the driftwood panelling to the large glass tanks housing anemones and sea-plants.

"How're you doing, by the way?" asked Ali. "You gave me quite the scare in Amoré."

"How'd I give you a scare?"

"Well, we're friends, right, and I dare say friends get scared when one friend gives himself several aneurysms." Ali chuckled, punching him in the shoulder, and Christopher felt a soft smile curl across his lips. _Friends_. Ali was right. They were friends, bonded over the fact that they'd both nearly died whilst fighting in Amoré. And, more than any of the others, he felt closer to Ali.

They'd brought down a Faceless together, and that was something for the history books, in his opinion.

"Anyway, here's the room. You're in for a surprise, I'll wager," said Ali, grinning as he pushed over the door.

Christopher walked into the playroom and froze. The toys were there, all of them, but they hadn't noticed him, and indeed, his gaze was fixed on the girl sitting beside the window. Her red hair was shorter than he remembered, reaching her shoulders, and her heart-shaped face was wan and drawn, her brown eyes pensive. She looked up as he walked in, and the wind went rushing out of his lungs.

"Priscilla," he said, his mouth going dry. He felt as though he'd just been clubbed over the head, and suddenly, he had the urge to sit down. Glancing around for a seat, he found none, and his jaw hung agape as she turned to meet his eye.

"Christopher!"

She hadn't spoken, but all of a sudden, he was knocked to the ground as Tigger—how?—bounced into his chest, and Owl came flying down to perch on his shoulder. Then Rabbit was there, poking him in the shoulder, and Roo was hopping about on his chest. Despite the shock running through him, he laughed as Kanga pinched his cheek and Eeyore morosely flicked his tail against Christopher's shin. Suddenly, everything fell away, and he was a boy again, young and carefree, letting himself be manhandled by his toys as they bounced around and on top of him.

"I was so worried, Christopher," said Piglet, grasping him around the neck, and Rabbit nodded, wagging a finger in his direction.

"Isn't it nice, Christopher! They're all here," said Pooh.

"Oh, that's a terrible bruise, honey, we'll need to get some ice and salve on it immediately," said Kanga, wandering over to inspect his face. "What have you been up to?"

"Tigger, ribs," said Christopher, groaning as the tiger bounced on him again, and the flicker on pain across his face seemed to get the toys' attention. Suddenly, they were all standing at rapt attention, looking at him in concern.

"Dear Godmother, they're a handful," said Ali, kneeling down and offering him a hand. Gratefully, Christopher accepted, and he pulled himself up, taking a seat on the carpet as his toys gathered around him.

"They missed you," said Priscilla, and not for the first time that morning, the world fell away. The toys vanished, as did Ali, and it was just the two of them in the room, How was she here? Why was she here? When had she arrived? The questions echoed through his mind as he scrambled to his feet and all but ran to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She returned it, but she was stiff, and when he leaned in, she turned her head away so that he kissed her cheek instead.

He flushed in embarrassment, turning to see that everyone was watching, and that they'd just seen him be, essentially, blown off. Something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. Desperately, he looked at Ali, and mercifully, his friend seemed to pick up on his discomfort.

"I'm Prince Ali Ababwa of Agrabah," he said, looking down at the toys. "Now, Christopher and Priscilla haven't seen each other in ages, so what's say we go down to the kitchens and give them some privacy? It might spare the young one's innocent eyes." He gestured at Roo, who looked indignant to be singled out, but the toys were nodding as they climbed onto Ali's shoulders, arms, and head.

As he left, Christopher turned back to Priscilla, and he realized that he was still hugging her. Awkwardly, he pulled away.

"How are you here?" he asked, wanting to get the most gripping question out of the way first. "Why are you here?"

"Renvale fell, Christopher," she said, her voice oddly bitter. "Queen Snow rules now, or well, someone who looks like Queen Snow, given that your mother is here, in Aquitania. Most of the populace was spared, and it's a peaceful takeover, but it turns out our relationship put a very large target on my back, and my parents' backs."

"I'm sorry, I didn—"

"I know," she said, speaking over him, and her expression softened. "I know it's not your fault. Your sister gave up her freedom to get the toys and Dreamer out of the castle, and Owl filled me in when they reached my cottage. My father is a clever man. We left Renvale within the week, booking passage on the first ship we could find. When we reached Aquitania, I begged to see King Eric. He didn't want to, but your toys are quite famous, and they lent credence to my claims. Your mother and Maleficent arrived a day later, and then after the three of them spent a day talking, Maleficent flew off to Amoré, and King Eric dispatched a few ships to go after her."

"My parents are staying at an inn in the city," she said, "I decided to wait here until you arrived so that I could be sure that your toys made it back to you, and then we're setting sail for Somnia. My uncle has a farm there, and he's agreed to take us in while we get back on our feet."

"I'm sorry," he said. It was all he could say. The entire story was too much to take in, and he sank into the chair she'd been sitting in. Burying his face in his hands, he sighed, feeling tears sting at the corner of her eyes. _Oh, Margaret_. His sister had traded her own life for his toys… she knew, she knew how much they meant to him, but… their relationship had never been the best, but he had loved her, and… even if she never showed it, she had loved him as well.

And, Priscilla. Just by being in her life, just by loving her… he'd torn up her livelihood and displaced her family. Her bitterness was beginning to make sense, but it wasn't his fault. He hadn't asked for any of this. He hadn't… he'd been innocent. He'd been a victim of Regina's machinations as well.

"You don't have to go to Somnia," he said, finally. "You can stay here… with me." Hopefully, he looked up, hoping that she was smiling or that her expression had at least thawed. "I don't have much, not anymore, but I could arrange something for your parents, I'm sure. Maybe a small cottage near the countryside and a grant or something from King Eric until your father can get new bees?"

Priscilla stared at him, and she knelt down in front of him. Taking his hands in hers, she looked up to meet his eyes. Her eyes were wet, he realized, and she shook her head.

"Christopher, I love you, you know that," she said. "I wouldn't have stayed here so long just to make sure the toys got back to you if I didn't love you. But, I'm not in love with you, not anymore. Things have changed. So much has changed."

"It doesn't have to," he protested as his heart sank. "I… I didn't want any of this to happen. I didn't ask to be carted off to Amoré, and Regina's schemes were her doing, not mine. Priscilla, I didn't do anything wrong here, and I'm in love with you, isn't that enough? Getting back to you was one of the only things that kept me going in that hell." _I was going to abdicate for you. I'd have left it all behind, just for you._

"These past few days, the only thing that I've been certain off is that if I hadn't been involved with you, Christopher, then I'd still have my home, and I wouldn't have had to run for my life in the dead of night. Loving you has always been so complicated, hasn't it, and… I'm tired of complicated. Too much has changed. That's why I think it's better for us to part ways as friends, and maybe I'll see you again someday, but I can't be with you, not the way you want me to."

 _It wasn't fair_. He didn't care how childish the thought was. It just wasn't fair. Why did life just want to take from him, to take and take and take until he had nothing left to give. First, his home, and then his crown. Then his father and his sister, and his happiness, and now, his girlfriend. His fingers trembled, and he felt tears run down his cheeks. He blinked, hoping to dispel them, and he gritted his teeth. _It wasn't fair._

" _If you're all I have left, then I have nothing,"_ he'd said to his mother, and he had been right.

"Then go," he said, not looking up to meet Priscilla's eyes. "Go. Leave, just like everyone else does."

"Christopher…"

"I said go."

As she rose and turned to leave, he clenched his fists. There, another bridge burned, and he ached. His heart thudded in his chest, and his head spun in vicious circles. For a moment, he thought back to the carefree boy he'd been, and the way he'd felt, just a little while ago, when the toys had overwhelmed him.

That boy was dead, and this was who he was now. A prince without a kingdom, with nothing left to lose. And, just like that, a fire seemed to take root in his gut. It blazed within him, fuelling him with determination, and he took a deep breath, drying his eyes with the back of his sleeve. All his life, he'd been shunned and fucked over, cast aside and left behind. And, he was sick of it. He was tired of being the path not taken, of being the person people felt sorry for, of the Prince of Fools.

As the door slid shut, he looked up, flames glinting in his brown eyes.

"May the bridges I burn light my way," he murmured, getting to his feet. It was past time he went after everything they'd said he could never have, and he'd start with his throne.

* * *

Ali winced as he reached behind his head to undo his braid. His shoulders were still sore from the pounding he'd taken in Amoré, and it hurt to reach that far back. Still, he desperately needed to give his hair a thorough washing, and he wasn't about to go asking around for assistance for something as trivial as unwinding the ribbons and golden bands in his hair.

It had been a long day, and he was exhausted. Caspian was wearisome at the best of times, and now that he seemed to have gotten it into his head that Ali was replacing him, he'd been downright petulant. To be painfully honest, Ali didn't have the time for patience for that kind of nonsense, and if Caspian insisted on being a brat, then he'd just have to be one alone. He sighed. He was usually more patient with his best friend, but Amoré had done a number on him, try as he might to deny it.

And, then there'd been the two hours he'd spent babysitting a bunch of toys. Interesting though they'd been, he had been quite glad when Christopher had come to collect them, though he'd definitely been thrown by the grim expression his new friend had worn. It was likely to do with that girl, and he'd inquire in the morning. It was always best to give people a chance to cool off before offering comfort, he'd learned.

Sighing, he shook his head. He needed to focus, or he'd never get anything done. Biting his lip, he stretched his arms back just a little more, and he ignored the sharp pulling in his joints as he reached for the first of the three golden bands he wore to keep his braid in place. Unclasping it, he tried pulling out the pin, and then he yelped at the sharp jolt which ran through his arm.

Gasping, he rubbed at his shoulder. Godmother above, it hurt, even if the healers had said it was fine and would just take a few days to heal. But, this was humiliating. He'd always been able to do things for himself, and now he couldn't even undo his hair bands.

"You need some help?"

A shiver ran through his spine at the familiar voice, and he turned, a smile spreading across his lips despite the pain. He hadn't even heard Aquaria come in, but there she was, leaning against his closed door with her spear in one hand, an eyebrow raised, smirking, and her hair was dripping, as though she'd just been swimming. In her corset made of seashells and the sheer skirt that left little to the imagination, it was easy to remember her as the girl he'd first fallen in love with, but the scar across her belly was all it took to remind him of all that had changed.

Yet, despite the fresh wave of pain that accompanied the sight of her, he couldn't deny that he was absolutely ecstatic to have her here with him all the same.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind," he said, and setting down her spear, she came up behind him. Deftly, her fingers worked their way through his hair, and he chuckled under his breath at the way she muttered under her breath.

"It's really getting ridiculous how long you keep your hair," said Aquaria, and he felt the couch dip as she sat down beside him. "It's longer than mine."

"I cut it," he said, somewhat defensively. "Well, more trim to get rid of split ends, but I like my braid."

"Ali," she said. "Look down."

He did, and he rolled his eyes, though he did see her point. His braid reached the small of his back, but when his hair wasn't tightly wound, it was much longer. Currently, it fell in a dark curtain down his back to pool around his feet, and if he stood, he knew it would just reach his ankles. Well, it was his hair and he liked it, even if it did give his enemies a place to grab. He winced, memories of the manner in which Gaston had flung him through the air still very clear in his mind.

"So, I trust that you didn't come from Atlantica just to unbraid my hair," he said, turning to face her. "Why'd you come, 'Ria?"

He had missed her, but the reason they'd parted ways still hung between them like a double-edged blade, and it was difficult to see her in the same light he once had. Still, he couldn't deny the way he'd felt when he'd first heard her voice, and how, despite earlier not wanting to ask for help with his hair for fear of appearing weak, he'd let her assist him without giving it a second thought. It was the little things, he realized, that stayed the same, even when the big things had changed.

"I came here to give you a piece of my mind," she said, folding her arms. "The second I leave, you're rushing off into a cursed kingdom, fighting Faceless and Hollow Ones and demented Sorceresses from what I've heard, and then you have the gall to ask why I'm here?" She smacked him on the chest, and he groaned. She likely hadn't meant to, but he was still tender from the beating he'd taken, and she sucked in a breath at once.

"I'm sorry," she continued, "I didn't think. But the fact remains that I was worried sick about you, Ali, and I know things didn't end on the best of terms, and I know I made a terrible mistake, and I know you probably still have mixed feelings about me, but dammit it all if I don't still care about you, and I don't want you getting yourself killed. Why didn't you use the pearl? Why? I could have helped you. I could have protecte—"

He leaned in and kissed her, effectively shutting her up. It was a short kiss, and when he pulled away, she blinked at him, looking rather surprised.

"I didn't use the pearl because Amoré was hell, and I didn't want to drag you into that mess as well. You said you wanted to protect me, and well, I wanted to do the same, and you were safer in Atlantica, and no, don't look at me like that, I know you're a warrior, but that doesn't change the fact that as your boyfriend, I'd prefer it if you aren't in a place crawling with Hollow Ones and their ilk."

"As your boyfriend?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I take it that means the break is over? But, Ali, what happened in Agrabah."

"Amoré gave me a bit of perspective, to be honest. You're alive and I'm alive, even if we've both dodged death now. Me, I've done it twice already. Point is, life is kind of short, and I'd rather have you in mine, because who knows how long before my luck runs out?" He chuckled at the expression on her face. "Not that I plan on dying anytime soon, but I didn't plan on the plagues or Amoré either, you know?"

"I know," she said, her voice soft. "I didn't plan for Rumpelstiltskin either. You know I'd never… The fine print… If I'd known I wouldn't have time to weasel out of the deal, I'd have thought harder, maybe tried something else. I'm sorry, and I can't say that enough."

"The past is the past, and we're not the people we were when we first met. But, we are the people we are now, and what do you say, oh Daughter of the Sea, do you still love this Desert Fox, even if he isn't the irresponsible rascal he was when you met him?"

"You can never be serious, can you?" she asked with a smile. Leaning in, she whispered into his ear. "Though, when you're fully healed, I'm going to spank you for worrying me like that."

"Oh, and I can't be serious?" He chuckled, ignoring the twinge of anticipation that accompanied her promise. He'd missed his fiery mermaid, he really had.

"Since you're here, though," he continued, looking a bit sheepish. "Would you do me a favour?"

She breathed an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes as she rose to her feet. Offering him a hand, she led the way to the bathroom without a word of complaint, and as he turned on the faucet, she reached for the shampoo.

* * *

Nick lay back in bed, grateful for the soft mattress and the comfortable bedding. Aquitania was lovely this time of year, but he hadn't had much of an opportunity to take in the sights, truth be told. Instead, he'd spent most of the day in bed, relaxing after his ordeal. Amoré had been… difficult, and that was putting it mildly. He'd almost died. In fact, they all had, and had his boyfriend's mother not shown up when she did, they might all have perished.

King Eric was a gracious host, offering them sanctuary within his castle for as long as they needed to recover, and he'd already sent word to their kingdoms that they were alive. Since arriving in Aquitania, he hadn't seen the king, however, and he understood. The war still raged in the Imperium, and it was very likely that King Eric had more important things to tend to than the small group of royals who'd stumbled into his castle. Prince Caspian, on the other hand... Nick had met the other prince once during his visit, and he hoped to not repeat that meeting until it was time to leave. The Prince of Aquitania was very rough around the edges. There, that was putting things diplomatically enough.

After all he'd been through in the past two weeks, he didn't feel guilty about simply taking a few days to himself. His kingdom would still be there when he returned in a few days, after he made sure the rest of his friends were well, especially Christopher, who seemed to have taken the worst beating of the lot of them. He sighed. He'd grown rather attached to the Prince of Renvale, and it was strange that the thought of saying goodbye to him hurt just as much as saying goodbye to Cornelius, Alyssa, and Ali.

In the adjoining bathroom, the water stopped running, and Nick rolled his eyes. Morgan had been in there for nearly two hours now, and he'd been getting a bit concerned about the whole thing. Still, he couldn't deny it was nice. If he could forget Amoré, and he'd tried to, this was almost like the two of them going on holiday, though of course recent events had skewed things. Nick sighed. He'd come so close to losing his boyfriend… too close. Even now, when the danger was long gone, he couldn't help but shiver whenever the thought crossed his mind.

The bathroom door opened, and his eyes widened as his mouth went dry. Morgan was walking towards him, towelling his hair, but he wasn't wearing his usual pair of sweatpants for bed. Instead, he was wearing a pair of pale-blue shorts, covered in white snowflakes, and Nick gulped. This was new, and it was already pushing all of the horrible memories away.

"I figured, well, it's warmer here than in Arendelle, so I might as well see why you like sleeping like this all the time," said Morgan, grinning as he perched on the edge of the bed. "You approve?"

"Yes," stammered Nick, biting his lip. Thinking it best to change the topic before his mind wandered to places he'd rather it didn't, he added. "Now we match." He gestured at his own forearm, where the wooden shards of his staff had dug deep, and he showed off the trio of scars that he'd likely always have. The rest would fade in time, and he winced at the memory. It wasn't the scars, so to speak… it was his staff. His weapon was one of the few gifts he had from his father, and to have lost it… He sighed. All things considered, he'd rather have lost the staff than one of his friends, but it still stung all the same.

"You have about a hundred to go before we match," said Morgan, his smile dimming just a little. "Don't ever scare me like that again, Frosty."

"Me, scare you? What about me? I was terrified for you," said Nick, reaching up to run his fingers down the long scar running from Morgan's shoulder to his elbow. It was new, fresh from the battle in Amoré, and he suppressed a shudder. "How's your wing?"

"A bit tender, but it's healing nicely," said Morgan, swallowing. "I'm serious, though. When you got blasted out of the sky, I thought I'd have a heart attack there and then."

"You caught me, though." Nick smiled.

"I'll always catch you when you fall, Frosty," Morgan replied. "Just don't go making it a habit."

"I won't, only if you promise never to worry me like that again," he said. "How was your day exploring the castle?"

"It was fun. They take the ship theme very seriously here. Honestly, I much prefer Arendelle. It's less… tacky."

Nick giggled, rolling his eyes. "Please don't let King Eric hear you say his castle tacky," he said, reaching out to swot Morgan on the back. "He's been fantastic, letting us all stay despite having a million other things to worry about."

"He does seem like one of the nicer kings I've met," said Morgan, climbing under the blankets and rolling onto his side. This was dangerous territory, Nick realized, with Morgan's bare legs so close to his, and he worried at his lip, desperately trying to keep the thoughts out of his head. _But… I don't mind_. The realization caught him by surprise, and he reached out to place a hand on Morgan's waist, testing the waters.

"Ali's dating his daughter, isn't he?" continued Morgan, a strain of nervousness in his voice, and Nick realized his boyfriend was blushing.

"I think so," said Nick. "I don't know what's the story there, but from what I gathered, they sort of broke up? It's very complicated, and Ali and I aren't really close enough for him to share, I think."

"He did seem to be making himself at home here," said Morgan, and then he leaned in. "Nick… you are aware that your hand is on my hip, right?"

"I…" Nick flushed, ducking his head and pulling his hand away. "I… it just happened." Flushing furiously, he shivered as Morgan's hand closed around his wrist, and to his surprise, his boyfriend moved his hand back to where they'd been. Looking up, feeling a dozen or so butterflies dancing in his stomach, he felt his lips curl into a tentative smile.

"I don't mind," said Morgan, leaning in. "In fact, I kind of liked it."

Their lips met, and Nick moaned as Morgan's tongue darted in past his lips, his hands moving to grasp onto his boyfriend's back. Morgan, for his path, was leading, slowly shifting them both until they were sitting up. Realizing he was straddling Morgan's lap, he flushed… this was a lot further than they'd ever gone before, but, somehow, after all they'd shared, after all they'd gone through together, it didn't feel _wrong_. Before, whenever they'd strayed too far, a warning bell had sounded in his head, and if Morgan didn't pull away first, shifting awkwardly, he usually did.

But, this time, it just felt natural, as though nothing in the world made more sense.

"I love you, Morgan," he whispered, pressing his palms into his boyfriend's chest, his breath hitching as he felt Morgan's hands on his hips. Slowly, as he leaned in for another kiss, he let his hands slowly slide down Morgan's body, from chest to abs, and from abs to navel, and then he paused, wordlessly meeting his boyfriend's eyes as his fingers ghosted along Morgan's waist.

"I love you too, Nick," he replied, and his breath was coming in short pants. He leaned in, his forehead pressing into Nick's, and he smiled a nervous smile. "Go ahead," he added, and just like that, he chuckled. "Just no frost, please. Your hands are cold enough."

"I'd say you're hot enough," replied Nick, "But well, I think you already know that."

Morgan laughed, and they kissed again, and Nick whined as Morgan's hands dropped just a little lower, cupping his rear. Retaliating, he dropped his own hands until they rested on Morgan's inner thighs, and then, somewhat tentatively, he raised them just a little bit higher. His boyfriend gasped, and he flushed, still slightly unsure of what he was doing, but that was fine, because it felt right, and more importantly, it felt really good.

"That's…" His blush deepened, and he ducked his head at the thoughts racing through his head. "Morgan, you're kind off, well…"

"Endowed?" supplied Morgan, grinning. Nick felt a hand on his chin, lifting up his face so that their eyes were meeting, and Morgan cupped his cheek. "Well, Frosty, I am a dragon."

"It's just that it's a lot to take in," admitted Nick, and almost as soon as the words left his lips, Morgan was laughing. He felt his entire body flush, and a tendril of frost danced around his fingers. _Godmother above, that came out so wrong_ , he thought. In that moment, he was painfully aware of his position, straddling his boyfriend's lap, his hand on his boyfriend's aroused crotch, one of his boyfriend's hands on his ass, the other cupping his cheek, and it was… it was both slightly embarrassing and oddly exhilarating, but all he knew was he didn't want it to end.

He'd taken his time, and they'd moved at their own pace, but… he was ready now, and Morgan seemed ready as well, and it was just the next step for them. He wasn't sure what had brought this on, whether it had been Morgan wearing shorts to bed, or if it had been Amoré, or maybe it was just a natural progression, but whatever it was that had led them here, it was kind of perfect. Just like Morgan was perfect, he reasoned, scars and all.

"You're babbling in your head again," said Morgan, leaning in, his voice suddenly very serious. "You do that whenever you're nervous. We can stop if you want to. It's fine."

"It's just…" He bit his lip. This was going to be mortifying. "Morgan… well, I've never erm, well… you're rather large, and it's not giving me second thoughts, it's just, well, you know…" He plucked up his courage. This was Morgan, his boyfriend, whom he loved, and they weren't going to get anywhere if he kept stumbling over his words. "Look, Morgan, all that's ever gone up _there_ has been like one finger, and you're a lot bigger than a finger."

"I… don't quite know how to respond to that. I mean, I'm a virgin here as well, Nick, and I'm also really nervous about messing up here, so well, at least we have that in common."

Nick laughed despite himself, and he bit his lip, his hair falling over his eyes as he looked up at his boyfriend. "Right, I know, I'm being silly, but, you know me and my nerves."

"I do," said Morgan, leaning in for another kiss. This one was sweeter than the last, and as hands wandered, and he arched his back as Morgan pushed forward, lips moving down to his chest, mouth closing around his nipple, he felt himself relaxing. It was like melting, he realized, almost like snow. Deftly, he pushed back, because Morgan's lips on his nipple tickled, and laughing might kill the mood, and more to the point, he wanted another kiss.

"I want…" Nick murmured as Morgan grunted, jerking slightly in his grasp, and then his boyfriend's lips were on the side of his throat, sucking lightly on his skin, teeth sinking in, just enough so that Nick was certain there'd be a mark there come morning.

"What do you want?" asked Morgan, his voice husky, his draconic eyes dark with lust. The hands on Nick's waist tightened, and Morgan rolled his hips under him, which caused another part of him to brush against Nick's thigh, and his boyfriend leaned in to press a kiss to his throat as he did so.

A soft whine escaped Nick's lips, and he flushed at the sound. Burying his head in Morgan's shoulder, he tried to gather himself and failed. Every part of his body seemed to be reacting at once, and he was responding to Morgan's movements without meaning to. Thrusting forward in time with Morgan's movements, he slowly kissed his way up from shoulder to ear, and despite the rush of sensation, he felt a smile curl across his lips as Morgan growled.

"I want to kiss you," he whispered, his blush deepening as he spoke. No, a determined voice said in his head… He didn't just want a kiss. _Be bold,_ he thought. _Be honest._ That was their relationship, unorthodox and at their own pace, but always honest. Relaxing, feeling his cheeks cool just a little, he continued.

"I want you to kiss me, and I want to take off your shorts and do that thing with my mouth we joked about the other day after you read that silly romance book, and I want... " he paused, his hands running up Morgan's back, and he tangled his fingers in his boyfriend's dark hair. "And I want _you._ I love you, Morgan, and I'm ready to be yours, utterly and completely, and if you're as ready as I am, and only if you are, really, then I want you to make love to me, because I want _yo_ —"

Morgan acted faster than he could have expected, pulling him down before rolling over so that Nick was under him. Without letting him finish what he was saying, Morgan kissed him, and he closed his eyes as he felt his boyfriend's tongue slip into his mouth. Something burst inside of him, a frenzy of passion and ecstasy, and he hooked his legs around Morgan's waist How long the kiss went on, he could not say, but when it broke, he was breathless and flushed, and for the first time in his life, he realized that he was covered in a light sheen of perspiration.

"Nick," said Morgan, his voice light and teasing, his eyes glinting with a strange mixture of amusement and desire. "Babbling."

"Then give me a reason to stop," challenged Nick, stifling a giggle.

And, as a hand snaked down his body to hook on the hem of his shorts, and a pair of lips began to slowly kiss their way down his chest, his brain seemed to short-circuit, and he quickly realized that this was definitely a challenge Morgan intended to win.


	25. Farewell of Innocence

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

 **Farewell to Innocence**

* * *

Breakfast was a rather lame affair. On one end of the table sat the idiot from Renvale, and for some reason, he seemed incredibly surly. He was eating a bowl of diced fruit, which was rather stupid in Caspian's opinion. Some nonsense about being a vegetarian. How could anyone expect to keep up their strength if they lived on nothing but rabbit food?

Ali was sitting next to Christopher, trying to engage the Renvalian in conversation and failing, and beside Ali sat his sister, who had decided that this was the appropriate time to leave Atlantica. Honestly, it was as though she had no responsibility at all—with their mother away, it fell to her to rule Atlantica, but whenever Ali so much as scraped his knee, she abandoned everything and rushed off to his side. How did she expect to wield the trident if she couldn't even manage to keep her tail on the throne long enough to warm it?

Almost bitterly, Caspian shoved thoughts of the trident away from his mind. It was stupid. The bloody weapon was defective, and it must be that the many years of use that had dulled it. _It should have been me._ But, no, the trident had been as heavy as a mountain when he'd tried to lift it, but his sister had wielded it as though it weighed no more than a feather. And, that was that. He was stuck with Aquitania, and she got to be their mother's heir. It wasn't fair. He hated being on land, and he hated having legs instead of his tail.

Stabbing at a crumpet, he turned to glare at the rest of the table. The brat from Arendelle was sitting on the other side of the Renvalian, and he'd been walking rather awkwardly when he'd come down for breakfast. Odd, really. He should have healed from his injuries by now, given that the best healers in his father's castle had been tending him. His pet dragon, on the other hand, was more to Caspian's liking. His plate was piled high with sausages and bacon, and he was tucking it with relish, though he did blush whenever he looked in his master's direction.

A rather nice arrangement, all things considered. Caspian paused, wondering where he'd be able to get a pet dragon. It sure as hell beat the horse he was forced to ride when on land. Shaking his head, he turned to the one person who actually seemed interesting, if only because she looked rather attractive. Alyssa of Amoré… she was rather lovely, even if her eyes were red and her expression was drawn. It was a shame than the Coronan had gotten to her first. Caspian had quite fancied her the last time they'd met, but she'd always been mulishly headstrong, but now… she'd been broken by what had happened to her home, and if she wasn't married, he'd already be trying his luck.

After all, he wasn't a monster. Married women were firmly off the table, if only because his father had threatened to cut off his allowance if one more angry husband from the city came to call upon the castle. And, while he did have his parents wrapped around his finger, he didn't like to push when his father was angry.

As for the Coronan… he wasn't much, honestly. Cornelius Fitzherbert. Son of a thief and a princess who'd spent her entire youth locked in a tower, and it showed in his breeding. He was unrefined, thought Caspian, and he behaved more like a commoner than most royals should. Now, more than ever, he missed Hrist. His on-again, off-again lover from Berk was perfect, and even if he was betrothed to her sister, he had no intention of marrying Princess Sigrun. The last time he'd tried to get her into bed, she'd threatened to feed him to her bloody dragon, and that was that. Frigid bitch didn't know what she was missing, but Hrist was all the woman he needed, as far as potential marriages were concerned.

If she was here, she'd likely already have crawled under the table and spread his scaled legs, and she'd have done things that had him choking on his orange juice. So, what if their betrothal wasn't set in stone and her boorish Viking of a father had banished him from ever setting foot in Berk again? And, so what if he didn't quite care for Hrist? There was no need for adoration or love. She was rich, an heiress, and a dragon-rider to boot. His sister could keep her Atlantica. He'd rule the skies themselves.

"Caspian, could you pass the pepper?" asked Cornelius, and he frowned. He'd just been about to mentally relive a fantastic memory, but that seemed ruined now.

"Can't you get it yourself?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "You have legs, don't you?"

Cornelius flushed and opened his mouth, probably to bite back with some lame retort, but his wife laid a restraining hand on his wrist. Caspian grinned as the Coronan rose to his feet and limped across the room, ignoring Christopher, who'd picked up the other pepper mill and made to hand it over. Instead, Cornelius picked it up and turned back, but he didn't stop at his seat.

Passing by his chair, he walked up to Caspian. Raising an eyebrow, Caspian folded his arms, wondering what the hell the idiot thought he was going to do, when all of a sudden, a cloud of pepper enveloped his face. He coughed, leaping to his feet, tears streaming down his cheeks as his eyes burned, and he grasped the nearest pitcher of water and all but flung the contents onto his face. Spluttering and rubbing at his eyes, he reached for the butter knife. _Oh, you think you're clever, do you?_

"Caspian, sit down," said Aquaria, and he paused, turning to face her. His sister was watching him with narrowed eyes, and despite wanting to stick the Prince of Corona in the shoulder and add to that wicked scar of his, he returned to his seat. If there was one person in the world he refused to cross, it was his sister, and that was only because she was fully capable of—and had done so before—beating the crap out of him.

"Pardon, mate," said Cornelius, sitting down. "I'm still rather unsteady on my feet, and I must have tripped and tipped the pepper over your head by accident. I'm dreadfully sorry, but no harm done."

Alyssa was hiding her lips behind her sleeve, and she was probably laughing. The Renvalian looked amused as well, the bloody oaf, and Prince Nicholas had diplomatically turned away to speak to his pet, the both of them paying the altercation no mind. Ali had raised an eyebrow in his direction, and for some reason, his best friend looked disappointed _in him._

Scoffing, he got to his feet. "Excuse me." Turning, he stormed out the room. He needed a swim, and hopefully, a few hours with the fresh-faced fisherman's daughter down at the docks, and maybe when he got back to _his_ castle, the interlopers would have vacated the place.

* * *

"Shouldn't someone go after him?" asked Morgan, frowning as he watched Prince Caspian storm out the room, looking utterly and completely furious. In all fairness, Cornelius had acted a tad rashly, but in his defense, the git had been asking for it. Since their arrival in Aquitania, Caspian had been nothing but unpleasant to the lot of them, and his antics were the last thing they needed so soon after Amoré. Morgan couldn't fault Cornelius in the slightest. If it had been him, he'd have used the pepper and the _salt_.

"Give him a few hours to cool off," said Ali, breathing a weary sigh. "I'll speak to him later."

Morgan nodded, turning back to breakfast. To be honest, he was still floating on a bit of a bubble, and he was to pleased with himself to be bothered by the likes of Prince Caspian. Last night had been utterly fantastic, especially after Nick and he had gotten over their awkwardness and gotten comfortable with the whole having sex thing, which honestly hadn't taken that long, all things considered. There were fresh marks on his back this morning, left there by Nick's nails, but for the first time, he didn't mind having marks on his skin. His boyfriend had somehow managed to get a hold of a scarf, which was for the best… he'd let his draconic nature get the better of him in the throes of passion, and his boyfriend had earned quite the collection of love-bites in the process.

"So, what's the plans for today?" he asked, looking around the table.

"Well, if Ali could spare his carpet, Alyssa and I were thinking of heading home to Corona," said Cornelius. "Mum's going to be furious. Might as well get the grounding over with."

"Sure," said Ali, looking up from his breakfast. "Carpet knows the way back to Aquitania, so just give him a night's rest and send him back. I think I'll be staying here for a few days, anyway."

"Thank you, Ali," said Alyssa. She bit her lip, looking around the table, and she set down her fork. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Thank you all. I don't think I can ever repay what you've all done for me. I…" She swallowed, looking away.

"You'll make it up to us by throwing the best wedding reception of all time," said Ali, a teasing smile on his face. "And, it's not a problem. That's what friends are for."

Morgan smiled, nodding in agreement, and he leaned over to squeeze Alyssa's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He couldn't comprehend how she wasn't a sobbing mess on the floor after all she'd endured—he'd been in Amoré for just over a week, but he'd had company with him. She'd been alone, trapped there for much longer, and she hadn't even had her sanity until Cornelius had broken the curse. And, when the curse had broken, her entire kingdom had been in ruins, her citizens slaughtered, her parents dead.

He didn't know what he'd do if he woke to find he'd lost his mother. He just didn't. Even though he had Nick, and he had his friends… she'd been a prisoner for who knew how long, and yet, she'd still come for him when he'd needed her most. He wasn't a fool. His mother was powerful, but she was still weakened from her imprisonment. Morgan knew her well enough to take in the subtle signs that she hadn't yet fully recovered.

Turning his attention back to the conversation, he reached out for a pitcher of orange juice. It was thick and pulpy, just how he liked it, and while Aquitania was rather tacky, the food was good.

"I think it's past time Morgan and I returned to Arendelle as well," said Nick, frowning. "I didn't really leave things in the best manner, so I have a few apologies to make, and I'm supposed to be ruling with Mum still off in the Imperium."

"How are you going to get home?" asked Aquaria, raising an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you needed your staff to fly."

"That is true," said Nick, his voice sounding a tad strained. Morgan reached out a hand under the table and gave his boyfriend's wrist a squeeze. The staff was still a sensitive topic, even between the two of them, but he knew the story behind the weapon, and he could tell that the loss of it had hit Nick rather hard.

"But," Morgan continued, "I heal rather quickly, being a dragon and all that, and my wings are perfectly capable of carrying the both of us back home." As his words sank in, he suddenly realized what he'd said. This time, it was his turn to flush. He'd called Arendelle his _home_. Home, before, had been his cottage in Somnia, with his loft above the kitchen and a vegetable garden in the backyard, with an impenetrable barrier surrounding the entire place to keep him safe. But…

He hadn't said anything, because it wasn't something that he'd wanted his boyfriend to know. His mother was an outlier, with just enough fairy blood in her to temper her draconic instincts, but he had just a few drops of the stuff in his veins. He was, though human, mostly a dragon, and he had no idea how it worked when so many species came together and what side won out, but at the end of the day, if he had to check a box, he'd have to say he was a dragon by species, just like Aquaria would tick mermaid despite having a human father.

And, dragons mated for life.

Swallowing, he busied himself with his breakfast, ignoring the way Nick was smiling at him, and the way Cornelius had raised his eyebrows. Alyssa was studying him, he noticed, and Christopher was simply glaring at his plate, having not entered the conversation that entire morning. Not that Morgan could blame him, especially given the rumours regarding Renvale. He didn't want to pry, though. When Christopher was ready to tell them what had happened, he would.

"So, you're going to ride him?" asked Ali, looking at Nick. "I thought you were the Prince of Arendelle, not Berk."

* * *

"It wouldn't be the first time," said Nicholas, not seeming to be paying attention to the conversation at hand. Then, his eyes widened, and he clapped a hand to his mouth.

Christopher looked up from his empty plate, and for the first time in what felt like days, he felt the urge to laugh. At the end of the day, it had been painful to hear the rest of them talk about returning to their homes, mostly because he didn't have a home to go back to. Not yet, at any rate.

Someday, he'd take back Renvale, but he was under no illusions. If he charged in now, still reeling from Amoré and with no actual combat expertise, he'd die. King Eric had been kind, offering him sanctuary for as long as he wanted, and his mother was staying in Aquitania… but he didn't think he could remain here on his own, not now that he knew what it was like to have friends to lean on.

But, he didn't want to ask them either. They were all still so new, and he wasn't sure if his feelings were entirely reciprocated. It was different having friends that weren't stuffed toys, and to be honest, the only human friend he'd had before this had been Priscilla, and he clenched his fist as he remembered how that had ended. All he touched turned to ashes in the end, and he'd rather not ask one of the others if he could crash at their castles for a while, not when there was the very real possibility that they'd say no.

Swallowing, he shook his head. No, he couldn't let himself be glum. He had survived Amoré, and he'd done that on his own for nearly three weeks before the others had found him. He'd withstood years of abuse and humiliation, and he'd weathered the news that his father and sister were dead, and that the girl he loved wanted to be as far away from him as she could, and he was still standing.

That was the important thing.

"You really do need to stop talking without thinking, Nick," said Ali, sounding very cheerful. Nicholas was as red as the fried tomatoes on his plate, and Morgan was smirking, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Christopher felt a small smile curl across his lips as Nicholas' blush deepened, and he exchanged an amused glance with Ali, who simply winked in response.

"Oh, come off it, Ali," said Aquaria, running her fingers down her boyfriend's impractically long hair. "You're embarrassing him."

"But we must make a toast," said Cornelius, raising his glass of juice. "To Nick, my dear cousin, who has approached life with all the gusto it deserves, for he hasn't let injuries, trauma, or days of washing in creeks and streams get in the way of getting laid."

A snowball whizzed through the air, hitting Cornelius in the face, and Christopher couldn't hold it in any longer. He laughed, feeling a heavy weight lift off his chest as he did so, and he was almost hysterical in his mirth. For some reason, this started a domino effect, and soon the entire table was laughing. Nicholas was shaking his head, but despite his heavy blush, he was smiling, and Morgan pulled him in for a peck on the cheek. The scarf slipped, just a little, and Christopher was rather thankful he was the only one who saw the trail of hickeys on Nicholas' neck before the prince had hastily pulled it back into place, because if Ali or Cornelius cracked one more joke, he feared he'd laugh up his breakfast.

It was nice to laugh, he reasoned, even when the days were darkest.

"So, Christopher, what are your plans?" asked Ali, once the laughter had died down and people had returned to their conversations. Across the table, Cornelius had begun to tease his cousin, and Christopher was grateful for the distraction, because of some of what was being said was enough to make him blush, and he hadn't even been involved.

"Honestly?" he replied. For a moment, he considered lying, but seeing the genuine look in Ali's eyes convinced him otherwise. "I don't know. It's… you heard about what happened to Renvale, right?"

"Bits and pieces," replied Ali. "Maybe you can fill me in?"

"I'm rather curious as well," said Alyssa, looking up. "Nobody's told us anything."

Christopher swallowed. He thought they all _knew._ Taking a deep breath and deciding to get it over with as quickly as possible, he began, "Well, I'm sure you all know by now, but my mother was a prisoner in Grimhilde for about a year, and she only recently escaped with aid from Maleficent." There, the easy part was done. Now, the difficult bits. Already, he could feel his throat growing tight. "For the last year, Regina Queen has been posing as my mother, and whilst we were all in Amoré, she made her move. My father is dead, and my sister has been executed for regicide." His eyes stung, and he looked away, not trusting himself to say more.

Silence loomed, and suddenly, he felt a pair of arms around him.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" asked Alyssa, holding him tight. "Oh, Christopher, I'm so sorry."

"You shouldn't be actually," he said, pinching himself to keep his tears in check. "You likely saved my life by keeping me in Amoré so long. If I'd been in Renvale, I'd probably be dead as well."

"You should have told us," said Ali, reaching out to rest a hand on his knee. "We could have helped."

"Godmother," swore Cornelius. "Here we are talking about home and you… we must be the most insensitive bastards on the planet."

"You didn't know," said Christopher softly. "It's fine. I'll be fine. I just need to figure things out. You know, where to go now, because as much as I appreciate the hospitality of Aquitania, Princess Aquaria, I... "

"Oh, why do you think I spend most of my time in Atlantica?" asked Aquaria, a sympathetic smile on her face. "Caspian gets on my nerves as well."

"There's not going to be any figuring things out," said Ali. "You're coming to Agrabah with me, and I'll not be hearing a word of refusal."

Warmth spread through his body, and he smiled. A part of him worried that Ali was just a genuinely nice person who wanted to help him out, but he also couldn't help but feel that his friend wanted him around, which was a very new feeling. Nobody ever wanted him around. At most, they tolerated his presence and made snide comments, and he'd be the first to admit that he'd had a very strained past with Ali. They were close in age, and they'd met a few times over the years, and before Amoré, he'd always known that the Prince of Agrabah didn't really like him… but things changed, didn't they?

His entire world had changed… mostly for the worse, but in some ways, for the better, he thought. And, Ali was a very skilled fighter, and after the two of them had teamed up to take down Gaston, he supposed he wouldn't be mocked too much if he asked for some help in learning how to defend himself a little better.

"Thank you," he said, putting as much emotion into his voice as he could. He shrugged, wondering if his next request would be too much, but he had to. "My, well, my horse is in the stables, and well Dreamer's been with me since I was a kid, and I don't want to leave him behind, but I'm not sure how he'd do in the desert, but I also don't want him to be, well, here, no offense Princess Aquaria, and—"

"We can take him," said Cornelius, grinning. "Now, getting a horse onto a flying carpet might be a challenge, but I reckon we can figure something out. I think he'll get along fine with Sundancer."

"I could send him over on the next ship," mused Aquaria. "And no offense taken. Honestly, it would be for the best if he's around someone you're comfortable with." She left the rest unsaid. It was better that Dreamer wasn't left alone with Caspian.

"I'd offer, but we don't really keep horses in Arendelle," said Nicholas. "The cold isn't very good for them. We tend to ride reindeer."

"And," added Alyssa, "That'll just give you an excuse to visit, won't it?"

Christopher beamed, and for the first time in his life, he felt as though he belonged.

* * *

"I can't believe I told five future monarchs, all of whom I'll have to deal with on a regular basis when I'm king, that I had sex with you last night," said Nick, stifling a grin. Now that the moment had passed and Aquitania was far behind him, he could see the humour in the whole situation, but in the moment, all he'd wanted was for the floor to swallow him whole.

A throaty chuckle escaped Morgan's maw, and the reverberations nearly knocked Nick out of his perch between the spikes running along his boyfriend's back. Wrapping an arm around the one in front of him, he reached down to swot Morgan on the back of his head, and another chuckle resounded through the cool night air.

" _Oh, Frosty, don't pretend you didn't enjoy each and every moment of it."_ Morgan's voice echoed in his mind, and he rolled his eyes.

"The sex? Yes. Cornelius and Ali spending an hour teasing me about it? No."

" _Well, why'd you tell them then?"_

"You distracted me!" Nick pouted, leaning back against the spiked ridge running along his boyfriend's back. "Though, it's sweet that you consider Arendelle your home, really."

" _That's what you were thinking about? Frosty, Arendelle isn't my home. You are."_

Nick flushed, and he had the distinct urge to hug his boyfriend. Still, that was rather impractical, considering Morgan was currently large enough to swallow a horse whole, and they were flying through the night sky. The stars glimmered above them, and the sea was still beneath them. Beside them, out of earshot but close enough to see, flew Alyssa and Cornelius, zooming through the air on Ali's carpet, and there were ships on the horizon, silhouetted against the light of the moon. It was a beautiful night, and his boyfriend, for all his lack of tact when it came to other people, really could be romantic when he wanted to be.

"I'd kiss you for that, but you're scaly."

Morgan chuckled again, and Nick smiled as he settled for hugging the back spike. He hadn't gotten a very good look at his boyfriend the last time he'd transformed, mostly because he'd just lost a lot of blood and been blasted out of the sky, but though he didn't have much to use as a frame of reference, he thought his boyfriend was a rather majestic dragon all the same. His wings were the same as they were during his partial transformation, only much larger, and his scales were an almost intoxicating shade of reddish-purple. Spikes ran along the front of his back, eventually becoming a ridge that vaguely resembled a fin which ended at his tail, and he had large horns above each eye.

The carpet drifted closer to them, floating in so it was hovering just over Morgan's neck just in front of Nick. Cornelius was holding Alyssa. She was asleep, it would appear, resting against Cornelius, her eyes closed and her body more relaxed than it had been since before Amoré. Though his cousin was sporting his trademarked cheery grin, it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"She's still having nightmares?" asked Nick, a sympathetic expression forming on his face as his cousin nodded.

"I can take her mind of things for a few hours or so, but it's been hard on her," said Cornelius, his shoulders sagging. "It's like the the fire's gone out inside her."

" _She just lost her parents and her kingdom, Cor,"_ thought-spoke Morgan. " _I'd say she just needs time."_

"I know." He sighed. "It's just. Sometimes, I wish we could all go back to the way things were just a few years ago. Alyssa and I were still crushing on each other, and we didn't have to worry about everything we have to now." He sounded utterly defeated, and Nick sucked in a breath. This was not like Cornelius, not in the slightest.

"I'm keeping up a brave face for her, but it hasn't been the easiest few weeks for me either, you know? I mean, I was dealing with my issues before Amoré… coming to terms with having died and been resurrected by my mother's magic, and then 'Lyssa was in danger and I couldn't think of anything other than saving her, but, now that's over and it's all hitting me at once. I'm… I'm tired. It's all been a struggle, and they say there's supposed to be good things after the bad times, but it's just one bad thing after another, isn't it?"

" _A few years ago, I believed I'd never have a person love me other than my mother, and I thought I'd have to live out my days in hiding for fear of being hunted down and executed."_ Morgan flexed his wings as he thought-spoke, and Nick subtly tightened his grasp on his boyfriend's spikes. " _I had sixteen years of one bad thing after another, but well, I found something good at the end, right?"_

"You haven't told her you feel this way, have you?" asked Nick, glancing at Alyssa. "Why?"

"It's… Nick, she's been through so much. She's lost her parents, her friends, her kingdom, her citizens, everything. I can't make her deal with my shit as well."

" _Candles burn out because they shed light on those around them. It's okay to focus on you when you need to."_

"He's right, you know," said Nick. "Talk to her, Cor. Trust me, you'll feel better when you do. From personal experience, I'd be sobbing on the floor if I didn't have Morgan to lean on through all of this."

" _Same. Nick's helped fight my inner demons, even the ones that were there before I met him. Come on, Cor, she's your wife. She'll want to be there for you. You love her and she loves you, right?"_

Cornelius looked haunted, and he glanced down at Alyssa, seemingly to make sure she was still asleep. When he looked up, his eyes were wet.

"But, what if that's not enough?"

Nick frowned, not sure how to respond to that. To be honest, the thought had never crossed his mind. For ages now, it had stopped being Cornelius and Alyssa, and it had simply been Cornelius _and_ Alyssa, two halves of the same whole, but the way his friend spoke… it was almost as though Cornelius was having second thoughts, but, that couldn't be. They were married, and they were good together. He'd seen it firsthand, and he'd been made uncomfortable by how close the pair were often enough to know that, like the romances in story books, Cornelius and Alyssa were written in the stars.

" _I've known you two for about two months at most,_ _and even I know that's bullshit."_

"Cornelius, you said it yourself. You're at your lowest point right now. And, I'm here for you, I am, but you can't think like that," said Nick softly. "You risked everything for Alyssa, and that alone proves that it is enough. Come now, we both know nothing short of an act of true love could have broken the curse, and you nearly died just to see her free of it. That says something."

"You're right." Cornelius swallowed, looking away. "I'm sorry. I just… it's been a long couple of weeks, you know? I just…"

" _Don't apologise. We've all been there."_

Nick nodded, and just like that, the absurdity of it all struck him. At the end of the day, Cornelius was the oldest of them, and he was only seventeen. They were just kids, all four of them, and here they were, admitting that they'd already been at their breaking points at least once in their lives. It was ridiculous and kind of sad, honestly, but whilst Amoré's Nightmare had left scars upon them all, there were some scars that ran much deeper.

"I'm seventeen," whispered Cornelius, echoing his thoughts, and Nick raised an eyebrow. "I… I should be worried about where to take her to dinner, or if I'll get thrown out of the pub for being underage. But, instead…" He trailed off. "I just don't know anymore."

"You're afraid, Cor, and you're worried about the future," said Nick, understanding all too well. "And, are you really going to let your fear dictate your life?"

"No…"

"Then let it go."

* * *

"Cornelius?"

"Hmmm?" he replied, shifting slightly at her side, and almost immediately, Alyssa felt guilty for waking him.

They'd reached Corona a few hours after midnight, and he'd led them in through an open window, assuring her that he'd tell his parents they were home in the morning. They'd likely be fast asleep right now, and there was no reason to wake them, especially since everyone was safe and, for the most part, sound. Still, that wasn't what was keeping her awake.

She'd been dozing off when he'd begun talking to Nick and Morgan, and the first words out his lips had caught her full attention. She'd feigned sleep, wanting to hear the whole story, and she'd never wanted to slap herself more than when he'd confessed how worn down he was. Through it all, he'd been her anchor, keeping her from drifting off into a sea of misery, and what had she done for him in response?

 _Try to kill him. Shrug off his pain about drowning. Always put yourself first. Selfish bitch._

Shaking her head to dismiss the thoughts, she wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing him as close to her as she could. His skin was warm, and holding him had always been comforting, and it still was… but she didn't have a monopoly on pain. They'd rushed into their wedding because of her problems, and they'd rushed into disaster because of her flaws, and yet, though it all, he'd always been there, even when she knew she didn't deserve his love and support.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he stiffened. "I haven't been fair to you, and I'm sorry. I just want you to know that I'm here, Cor, for the good times and the bad times, and I do care about you, and even though I'm hurting, that doesn't mean I can't be there for you."

"You were listening…" It was a statement, not a question, and she simply tightened her hold on him as he seemed to collapse into himself.

"It's rude to eavesdrop, I know, but… I want you to smile again, and I want the smile to be genuine. So, stop carrying both of our problems, please. We're in this together, isn't that what you said? And that means I help you as well."

He rolled over so he was facing her, and she almost recoiled at the haunted glint in his blue eyes. His _spark_ was missing, and that was the only way she could describe it. He'd hid it well, but now his guard was down, and it was just the two of them alone in his bedroom, and she utterly and completely hated herself for doing this to him. No more. Her pride… her selfishness… it had already cost her too much, and it had cost the people around her even more.

She refused to let it hurt her husband, not anymore.

Reaching out, she ran her fingers beneath his eyes, wiping away his tears, and she leaned in to press her lips to his. Soft and demure, she didn't focus on the passion between them, or the desire that typically accompanied their kisses. No, instead she drew upon her love for him, and she put as much of it as she could into her kiss. In this moment, she didn't want his body, and she didn't want to console herself. She didn't want the pleasure that filled her whenever they kissed.

All she wanted was her Cornelius back. His smile. His laugh. The way he'd play with her hair when he was bored, and the way he'd sometimes drool on the pillows. She wanted him talking in his sleep and spinning her around the room, and she wanted to wake up in the morning to find him on the floor, having rolled off the bed in the night like he sometimes did. She wanted her husband to be happy again, to be truly happy, just like they'd been before she'd ruined it all.

Breaking the kiss, she stroked his cheek.

"Tell me."

He sighed. "Look, I don't know, 'Lyssa. It's just… you remember when we were on that ship, heading to Aquitania? I was a mess. I don't know. It was the wounds, and I let you all believe that, but… I spent the entire voyage just waiting for us to crash, just waiting for the water to come rushing in through the hull…" His voice cracked, and her heart broke. "I just… It's hard. I thought I was okay. I did. But, being in a cabin again… on the open sea. I felt like I couldn't breathe, and whenever I closed my eyes, I could _feel_ the water around me, going over my head… and…"

"Why didn't you tell me… tell any of us?" she whispered, and she could have kicked herself for not seeing it. It was true. He had been off for the entire voyage, but she'd been to wrapped up in her grief to focus, and she'd believed him when he'd said it was just the wounds he'd taken in Amoré. _I should have realized._

"You were a wreck. Nick could barely walk. Ali couldn't stand without his head spinning. Morgan spent three-quarters of the voyage dosed on pain and sleeping potions because his wing bones had cracked in three places, and Christopher didn't wake until we made port. How could I… you were all hurting, and I didn't want to put more pressure on any of you, least of all you."

"To bind my fate with his, to share in his fortunes and his woes, to follow him in search of my happily ever after," she whispered, cupping his cheek. "I married you, knowing there'd be good times and bad times, and when you feel you can't walk, I want to be there to carry you, and when you can't stand, I want to hold you up, and when you cry, I want to dry your tears. I don't care if I'd just been shoved through a meat grinder. If you need help, come to me."

"Alyssa…"

"When you feel you can't breathe, I'm going to remind you. When you think you're drowning, I'm going to be there with a mouthful of air. When the sky falls down around you, I'm going to be there to hold it up. Because I love you, Cornelius Fitzherbert, and you're the most important person in my world."

* * *

"Well, if it isn't the Prince of Agrabah himself, come to scold me." Caspian sneered, setting down the half-empty bottle, and shoving the scantily clad tavern wench off his lap. "What, have you forgotten how many times you sat across from me in places like this, drinking until your legs were rubber?"

Ali sighed, wondering why he'd decided to go after his idiotic friend in the first place. It looked as though Caspian had been here for hours now, judging by the number of empty bottles on the table and his state of undress. It was rather idiotic, honestly. Even Ali, known for his lack of proprietary and somewhat loose moral compass would shun the idea of being in a public place with his pants half-off, his shirt unbuttoned, and his tented underwear on full display.

In Agrabah, his people knew that he wasn't the most responsible of lads, and the Godmother knew that he'd visited enough of the city's taverns, hookah lounges, and brothels during his wilder days. But, he'd been discrete, and he'd taken care that the walls of his castle were the only walls that had seen him truly intoxicated. No matter his love for frivolity, for dancing, and for having fun, he knew his role.

One day, he would rule, and he couldn't rule a kingdom if his subjects had seen him passed out in a gutter with his harem-pants around his ankles.

"Caspian, we're not in a private room," he said, rolling his eyes. "Keep your voice down."

"Oh, is it a lecture then? You're no fun anymore." Caspian grinned, shoving the bottle in Ali's direction. "Come on then, drink up or leave."

Taking the bottle, Ali set it down on the other end of the table, out of Caspian's reach. _Godmother, I'm turning into my father._ Snapping his fingers at the tavern wenches, he silently dismissed them, wanting at least a modicum of privacy whilst he attempted to talk some sense into his girlfriend's brat of a brother.

"It's not that I'm not fun anymore," he said. "It's that there's a time and a place for everything. Did you enjoy your performance at breakfast? I find it hard to imagine that even you would take pleasure in seeing a man who currently has trouble walking have to get up just to get the pepper mill."

"Oh, come of it, Ali," drawled Caspian. "The kid can walk it off. What was it? He tripped over a root in Amoré?"

Ali stared, utterly aghast at Caspian's dismissive nature. It was no secret what had happened in Amoré, and his friend was either playing stupid or, and this was the most likely answer, he hadn't cared enough to fill himself in on the gossip circling his own castle. Honestly, if even the bloody cook had been clued in enough to wish the others well on their journey and extend a _get well soon_ , then Caspian could have at least bothered to ask.

"He almost died," said Ali, not caring that his tone was more hostile than he'd intended. "We all almost died. But, I suppose it didn't concern you, so you don't care."

"Almost died." Caspian chuckled, waving a hand out in front of him. "This is that Agrabah mess all over again. You stub a toe and my sister has to come running to bail you ou—"

Ali punched him in the face, feeling the distinct crack of bone beneath his fist as his knuckles made contact with Caspian's nose. Blood streamed down the prince's nose, but Ali didn't give a shit. He didn't think he'd ever been angrier in his life, and if steam was coming out of his ears, then he wouldn't be surprised.

" _I almost died,"_ he snarled. "I had a few hours left at most. Rumpelstiltskin carved your sister open like a turkey. We lost our first child. _I lost my first child._ My entire kingdom was dying. There was no water. Food supplies were running low. People died. Hundreds of people. Children. Men. Women. We couldn't bury the dead, as per our traditions, not with the plagues spreading disease through our streets. We had to burn them. I don't think I'll forget the smell of burning flesh for the rest of my life. And, you know what the sad thing is? I wrote to you. I wrote to my best friend when it was all over, to let him know that I was okay, that his sister would be okay, and that Agrabah would heal… and I never got a fucking reply, did I?"

"But, you didn't die," said Caspian, and he was seething, clutching at his nose. "Aquaria didn't die. What was I supposed to do? Draw a heart on a piece of paper and send it over? Get over yourself, Ali. You fuck my sister enough to make another ki—"

Ali punched him again, harder this time. Rising to his feet, he all but shoved the table out of his way as he whirled on his feet, ready to storm out. Then, Caspian grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him back down to the booth, and pinning him down with one hand. _Fuck._ Ali was strong, but Caspian was a merman, and he was stronger.

"Where do you get off acting as if you're better than me?" Caspian glared. "I should kick you for that last punch, but I'm not, because I think it might almost kill you, since everything seems to these days. Acting all buddy-buddy with the Charming dolt, inviting him to Agrabah when just a few years ago, you and I were mocking him and making bets on how long before he tripped over and landed on his face at that ball in Renvale. Turning up your nose at me for drinking in a pub and having a bit of fun with a wench. Pretending you weren't the same. I wonder if my sister knows half the shit you've done, considering how perfect you like to act since you started seeing her."

Ali closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and regain control of his temper. Some of the patrons were beginning to stare at them, and he reaching into his pocket for a coin. Flicking it to the nearest waitress, he gestured to the screens in the corner of the room, and he was somewhat pleased that she got the message and moved to slide them into place, closing off their booth from the spectators.

Turning back to Caspian, he pried the prince's hand off his wrist, and scooted as far away from his as he could. Almost lazily, Caspian responded by stretching his legs out over the bench, making no attempt to pull up his pants, his blue scales shimmering in the lamp light.

"Aquaria and I have no secrets," he replied, choosing to ignore the rest of Caspian's rant. "She knows everything I've done, and I know everything she's done. It's called being honest, and it's what people in relationships do. She knows I didn't come to her bed a virgin, and I know she didn't either."

"Oh, really?" asked Caspian, raising an eyebrow as he dabbed at his bloody nose, grasping a bottle with his free hand and taking a deep swig. "She knows you sucked her brother off?"

Ali rolled his eyes. _Of course he'd bring that up, the bloody brat._ "We blew each other once like four years ago because we wanted to experiment," he said, keeping his voice level. "And yes, she knows. I don't lie, Caspian, and I'm not a kid anymore. I have responsibilities, and so do you. So grow the fuck up. The rest of us have."

This time, when he rose and Caspian moved to yank him back down, he was ready. He whirled around as Caspian rose, and using the momentum to drag his _best-friend_ close, he raised his knee up as hard as he could, catching the other prince in the crotch. Shrugging as Caspian collapsed back into the booth, groaning and bloody, Ali held his head up high as he made his way out of the pub.

He'd tried. By the Godmother, he'd tried. But, you couldn't help those who couldn't help themselves, and as he'd said to Caspian, he'd grown up. It was visible all around him. When dinner had been served, he'd only drank a single glass of wine, and he'd engaged King Eric in polite chatter about, of all things, trade, which usually bored him to tears. He was friends with Christopher Floreté Charming for Tsar Luna's sake, and it was a genuine friendship, to his own surprise given he'd once given the Prince of Renvale a wedgie until Christopher had cried.

He wasn't the same person he had been a few years ago, and it was for the best, because he'd been a bit of an asshole in his youth. Seeing Caspian again had reminded him of how bad he'd once been, and he shuddered at the memory.

Ali had hoped that with time, Caspian would grow like he had, but every time they met, that hope died a little more. It was difficult, considering how close they'd once been, but if that was how things were to be, then so be it. He had enough on his plate, and he had people in his life who he could rely on to help him. There came a time when you had to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn't jump puddles for you, and after this last stunt, Ali knew the time had come to leave Caspian behind.

 _You fuck my sister enough to make another…_

The words echoed in his head as he made his way back to the castle, clenching his fists. Yes, it was definitely time to wash his hands of that brat.

* * *

"Stupid Ali," Caspian said, kicking the pebble as hard as he could and sending it skipping across the waves. "Curse the lot of them." After the idiot had left him, he'd puked his guts out over the table before stumbling over to the beach, hoping to cool off before going to the castle. If he was still angry when he got there… Ali was a sly fox, baiting him and then fleeing behind the safety of Aquaria's ruddy spear.

"That can be arranged," said a cool voice from behind him, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

Turning, he raised an eyebrow as a dark-haired woman strode towards him. She wore a thick collar around her neck, covered in studs, with a loop in the front as though for a leash. Her clothes were a bit dirty, and there were leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles, covered in the same loops and studs as the collar. She was barefoot, and as she smiled at him, he realized her eyes were glassy.

 _Drunk, probably a whore from the wharf,_ he thought, somewhat interested. She was rather pretty.

Then, a man appeared out of the shadows, falling into step at her side. He was tall, with a burn scar across his cheek, and his hair was half-black and half-white. Instantly, Caspian was on guard. The man's attire was too perfect for someone at the beach, and that hair. Somewhere, in the back of his intoxicated brain, warning bells were sounding, but he couldn't place them.

"Hello, Prince Caspian, it's a pleasure to meet you. Aren't you a pretty young thing?" said the man, cocking his head to the side. Caspian recoiled upon catching a glimpse of his eyes, and the warning bells got louder. Those eyes… they were darker than midnight, and they glinted like shattered glass, with madness dancing in the broken depths.

"Who are you?" he asked, reaching for his dirk. Frowning, he fumbled at an empty sheathe, and he cursed as he remembered he'd used it to pry open a bottle of beer and left it on the table.

"I'm Renata." She giggled, her smile widening. "This is Damon. We were in the neighbourhood, picking up some supplies from your apothecaries, and we couldn't help but notice you needed some help."

"Help?" he asked, taking a step back.

"Yes, you need our help," said Damon, and there was something about his voice, thick and alluring, calling to Caspian like the sea. He shook himself, feeling tendrils of magic weave their way into his head, and he tried to reach for his own magic, but he'd drank too much, and all that happened was a trickle of saltwater leaking out his fingertips.

"We're going to help you. You just need to come with us, Caspian," continued Damon, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

Caspian shuddered, but for some reason, he believed him. They were going to help him. Help him with what? He shook himself, jerking out of the man's grasp. Catching Damon off-guard by his sharp movement, he took advantage of the momentary lapse in whatever magical shit was being worked on him, and he whirled, taking off at a sprint.

Damon tackled him, and he went down, hitting the sand hard. He opened his mouth to scream, but the man clamped a hand to his lips, and he struggled, trying to break out of the grasp as Damon pinned him to the ground, wrapping his long legs around his scaled ones and keeping them locked together. His arms were behind his back, and then, he felt something warm hit him in the back.

 _Saltwater_. Damon was whispering in his ear, and his voice was soothing, but in the back of his mind, all Caspian was aware of was that Renata had just doused his legs in seawater, and his body was reacting. His scales were rippling, his legs melding together, his feet shifting into his fins. Godmother above, he couldn't run like this, and the sea was too far away for him to crawl in and dive deep.

And, the voice in his ear was till talking, whispering sweet nothings, assuring him they could help him, and he tried to fight it, he did, but it was so hard. His mind felt like cotton, and his arms felt stiff and heavy, unwilling to move, even as he tried to fight. It wasn't working. Nothing was working. He wanted to help them. They wanted to help him. He needed to go with them. No, he couldn't. They were trouble. But, they would help him.

Something in him snapped, and he went limp, his body slick with sweat, and his eyes were unfocused as Damon rolled him over, picking him up as if he weighed nothing.

"You're going to come with us, aren't you?" asked Damon, "We're going to help each other, and we're even going to play a little."

"I'm coming with you," he said, and to his horror, he found that he meant it. "I'm going to help you."

* * *

"You ready to go?"

Christopher looked up, surprised to see that the time had passed him so quickly. The sun was setting on the horizon, and the ocean glowed like molten gold. It would make a nice painting, he realized, and he wished he had his paints with him. They were in Renvale, however, along with the rest of his possessions, and that was assuming that Regina hadn't already set everything he owned on fire out of sheer spite.

Ali was standing behind him, a bag slung over one shoulder and his carpet hovering at his side. Getting to his feet, Christopher wiped his hands on his pants, getting off the worst of the charcoal. Slipping the sketchbook into his satchel beside his toys, he nodded before climbing onto the carpet, biting his lip as he did so. This wasn't the first time he'd flown on it, but the last time, he hadn't really had a choice in the matter given they were being pursued by Hollow Ones.

Now, though, he had time to think about it, and he was nervous. It didn't feel right to be so high in the sky with just a carpet beneath him, but he clambered into a comfortable position all the same, crossing his legs for balance as he did so. There was nothing to hold on to, and it honestly felt as though the slightest jerk would knock him off.

"Just hold onto me if you feel dizzy," said Ali, chuckling as he climbed on beside him. "We'll be going slower than we did in Amoré anyway, so don't be afraid."

"Can I hold onto your braid like a horse's reins?" asked Christopher, a faint grin spreading across his lips.

"Do that, and it's not falling off that you'll have to worried about," said Ali. "You'll be pushed off."

"Good to know," he said.

"That all you bringing?" asked Ali, gesturing to his bag.

It was barely full, and the toys took up the most space. Christopher sighed, feeling a flush of embarrassment run through him. He didn't want to say it out loud, because once upon a time, he'd had a lot of things. Even when he'd been miserable and alone in Renvale, money was not something he'd ever been short of, but times had changed, and even the clothes on his back weren't his own. They'd been purchased by King Eric and left in the guestroom he'd been sleeping in, and even his sketchbook and coal sticks had come from the playroom occupied by the toys. He'd flushed and stammered when he'd asked Princess Aquaria if she'd mind him using them, but she'd simply shrugged and said nobody else was going to use them, so they might as well see some use.

It was… strangely humiliating in its own way, having to rely on others for everything. Christopher bit his lip, looking away, and Ali sucked in a breath, as though understanding had just now dawned.

"I'm sorry," Ali said, reaching out to squeeze Christopher's shoulder. "I didn't think."

"It's okay," he replied. "It is what it is."

"We'll get you some new stuff in Agrabah, okay?" Ali's voice was warm. "Don't worry about it."

Christopher sighed. That was the last thing he wanted. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful, far from it. Ali was already doing so much: giving him a place to stay, offering to train him in combat, just being somebody he could talk to… He didn't want to take his friend's money as well. He didn't want to be a charity case who people felt sorry for.

"I… Ali, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, other than Amoré, really? I don't want to dredge up the past, but well, we haven't had the nicest history, and well, now you're doing so much and I can't help but feel—"

"That I'm either helping you to alleviate my own guilty conscience? Or is that I feel sorry for you?" supplied Ali, and Christopher bit his tongue, hoping he hadn't offended the other prince. "Chris, mind if I call you Chris, by the way? I'm helping you because believe it or not, I've grown rather fond of you, and I rather think you lean more on not-believing since I have to keep repeating myself, but I am your friend, and friends help friends."

"I know." He sighed. "It's just… I have nothing. And so that means you're not getting anything out of this friendship, which means you're here because you genuinely like me, and that's not easy for me, you know? Maybe it's easy for you because you're you, but I grew up as the laughing stock of my kingdom. I didn't have friends. I had stuffed toys."

"I'll admit that I've been an asshole in the past," said Ali. "But, I'd like to think I grew out of pantsing you at your sister's Debutante Ball. Look, if you're feeling embarrassed about the lack of stuff, don't worry about it. You can take it as a gift, or you can pay me back when you take back your throne, whatever makes you feel better. So, enough feeling sorry for yourself. We're going to Agrabah, we're going to put a smile back on your face, and you're going to learn what having friends is all about."

 _I tried having friends before._ The thought echoed through Christopher's mind. He'd tried with Ali, a long time ago, and what had transpired between them could really only be described as bullying. He'd tried with Jaq Charmant of Eléadoré, but he'd been mocked horribly for his troubles. He'd tried with Anthony Rêvere, and he'd been placed in a headlock and had his head dunked in the nearest water source, which happened to have been a toilet, which thankfully had been clean.

Whenever he'd tired to form a friendship in his youth, he'd had the door slammed in his face. Some were nicer than others; Cornelius, for one, had always been polite, and Lucile had always been courteous. And, there'd been Priscilla, but if what they'd have was real, she wouldn't have walked away so easily. He knew that in his bones, even as the thought made his chest ache.

But, things were different now, and he had to remind himself of that. He'd bled alongside Ali, and he'd somehow saved them all in Amoré, even if his memories were hazy. He'd eaten breakfast with them and told jokes, and he hadn't been the brunt of the humour. He'd had conversations. These friends weren't going to leave him, and he _wasn't_ their pity project.

Glancing at Ali, he forced a smile to his face.

"I'll be paying you back," he said.

"Sure."

"You won't go easy on me when we train."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"You're not going to act differently than if it was Cornelius or Nicholas. I'm not made of glass. Don't hold back because you're feeling sorry for me."

"Oh, I behave like an idiot in front of everyone."

Christopher couldn't help but laugh, and Ali clapped him on the shoulders. The Prince of Agrabah whistled, and the carpet replied, perking up under them and beginning to glide in small circles, evidently warming up for what was going to be a long flight.

Beneath them, the carpet rose into the air and began to pick up speed. The wind whistled in his ears, and without thinking, he grasped Ali's waist, taking a deep breath and doing his best not to look down. Godmother, this was terrifying. Exhilarating and somewhat exciting, but terrifying all the same.

The sea glimmered beneath them, and taking a deep breath, he looked down. His eyes widened. A pod of dolphins leapt out of the sea, looking as small as his fingers, and then they were gone, replaced by a ship. The sailors looked like toy soldiers, and then the carpet was dipping, and Ali was chuckling as they skimmed over the waves, so close that Christopher could reach down and run his hands through the water.

He couldn't help it. He whooped, crying out in delight as the water sprayed around his fingers, and then the carpet was climbing into the air again, and the first stars were beginning to shine.

"There it is," said Ali, sounding amused. "Flying really is something, isn't it?"

"It's fun," he exclaimed, all his worries forgotten. "I'd almost forgotten what it's like to have fun."

"Then hold on tight," said Ali, "Because this is just the start."


	26. The Frozen Heart of Arendelle: Part 1

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

 **The Frozen Heart of Arendelle**

 **Part One: Siege**

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Morgan looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow as Brynhildr wandered into the room, and somehow, she was covered in mud, despite there being, to his knowledge, no mud in the general vicinity of Arendelle. Indeed, if one wanted mud, they'd need to dig through nearly five feet of snow. Trekking dirty footprints across the floor, she marched up to him and snatched the book out of his hands, scrutinizing the cover.

"The Viscount and the Vixen," she read, looking at the title and wrinkling her nose. "Godmother, why're you reading this thrash?"

"Hello to you as well, Bryn," he said, yanking back the book. "And I'm reading it because I've already finished almost everything else in the castle library."

"Everything?" She scoffed. "There are hundreds of books there."

"Well, I have to pass the time somehow when Nick's busy, don't I?"

Their return to Arendelle had been met with mixed reactions from Princess Anna, who'd simultaneously sobbed in relief whilst yelling at them for worrying her. Not that Morgan knew why he'd been yelled at, all things considered. She was his boyfriend's aunt, and whilst he was fond of her, she wasn't really his mother. Still, he had to admit it was a nice feeling to know she cared enough to scold him as though he was her own family member.

 _Maybe, one day…_ No, he dismissed the thought. His relationship was growing in leaps and bounds, and they'd finally taken the next step and gotten physical with each other, but they still had a long road to travel. Morgan didn't want to jinx things by plotting out a future too soon, and honestly, they'd been winging it so far, and it had worked out well enough.

At least his mother approved. He'd been somewhat unsure as to how she'd react to him being romantically involved with someone who she'd long viewed as an enemy. He was under no illusions. The unique circumstances surrounding the Hollow Ones were what had led his mother to siding with the council, but she still held them in deep disdain. It wasn't even the fact that he was dating a guy, because his mother knew that he, to put it plainly, swung both ways, and she'd always been supportive. It was just… Nick was very much a hero, whereas he came from a long line of villains. On some level, he'd expected his mother to disapprove, if only because she'd likely want to return to her schemes once the current threat had been dealt with.

But, Maleficent had been… pleased that he was in a relationship, and she hadn't even batted an eye when he'd told her who he was with. In fact, she'd even teased him about it when they'd parted ways. He smiled. His mother was the darkest sorceress to ever live, and her sins were darker than the night, but she was his mum, and at the end of the day, he knew she just wanted him to be happy. Still, it had been nice to have that confirmed. It had been very nice indeed.

"You know, for all the times you complain that Nick babbles in his head, you do a lot of it yourself," said Bryn, shaking him from his thoughts as she sank to the ground, folding her legs beneath her. A gleam of light clung to her fingers, pale and misty, the colour of freshly tilled soil.

"Did you…" Morgan frowned, his gaze flickering to the magic. "Bryn, I thought we talked about you staying out of my head with your shamanic mumbo-jumbo."

"No, you talked, and I just said that I understood." She grinned. "There's something you should know. When I say that I understand, it doesn't mean that I do. It doesn't even mean that I'm paying attention. It just means I want you to shut up now."

"And, there's something you should know," he replied, not missing a beat. "When I say that you should stay out of my head, I don't mean that you should just do what you want. I mean, stay out of my damn head, or I'll roast you like a marshmallow."

"You wouldn't," she taunted, sticking out her tongue. "What would Nick say?"

"Oh, believe me, he'd likely hold you down," Morgan grumbled. Setting the book down on the end table, realizing he wasn't likely to get any reading done now that he'd been disturbed, he leaned towards the girl and narrowed his eyes. "Just by the way, how much of my thoughts did you hear just now."

"Enough to know you've been enjoying the royal popsicle," said Bryn, stifling a giggle. "And that you let Nick ride on your back all the way from Aquitania. How come he gets to and I don't?"

"It's simple," he replied. "I only let people I like go for dragon rides."

"Is that so?"

Morgan's gaze flickered to the door, and he smiled as Nick walked in with a teasing smirk on his lips. His boyfriend ruffled Bryn's hair as he passed her before flopping down on his lap and pecking him on the cheek. Then, Bryn giggled, and Morgan glared, not quite liking the glint in her eyes. Honestly, she was going to be the death of him, but dammit it all if he didn't enjoy her company, nonsensical antics and all. She was a mischievous little brat who made him look like the most tactful person in the world, but she was amusing.

"It certainly is," replied Morgan, shifting to get comfortable under his boyfriend's weight. "Bryn, see, he's nice to me, so he gets to go for all the rides he wants."

As the words left his lips, a glimmer of mischief appeared on Nick's face, and he turned to look at his cousin. They exchanged a glance that Morgan didn't like at all, but before he could react, Nick's hands had slid under his shirt, and they were _cold._ Frost danced around his boyfriend's fingers, and he yelped in alarm, feeling as though two ice-cubes had just been placed on his midriff, and he tried to pull himself out of the way, which was not easy given he was in an armchair and Nick was sprawled on top of him.

And, a second later, a dreamy sensation came over him, and he got the distinct urge to get to his feet and start dancing the ballet. For a minute, he considered it, and then Nick's right hand slid just a little higher and the cold snapped him out of his delusion. He shook his head to clear it, glaring accusingly at Bryn, who whistled innocently as Nick slid his hands away.

"You're supposed to me on my side," he scolded, fighting the urge to laugh. "Not teaming up with the enemy."

"Oh, you love me anyway," said Nick, a teasing glint in his eye. Leaning in so that Bryn couldn't hear him, he winked. "How about I make it up to you tonight, since I apparently can go for as many rides as I want? First time in a bed I actually own?"

Morgan shivered, liking the idea very much, and it was rather odd how quickly the dynamic had changed. They'd been so chaste, in a matter of speaking, until Aquitania, but now they really couldn't keep their hands of each other, and if the books he'd been reading were to be believed, this was called the honeymoon period. Not the term he'd have used, but who was he to argue with those who'd already christened such things.

"You're incorrigible," he replied. "Have I, the evil dragon, succeeding in corrupting my fair prince?"

"I quite liked being corrupted," said Nick, leaning in just a little closer. "Though, perhaps defiled and debauched might be the better word. Much more poetic, don't you think?"

"You two realize I'm still here?" Bryn said, making a gagging sound, and Morgan was jolted back to reality. Shaking himself, his cheeks tinged with colour, he pulled away from Nick, groaning as he realized the effect his lover's words had on him. Nick had better stay put until he'd recovered, because his trousers weren't the loosest in the world, and he'd rather not give Bryn more ammunition.

Nick opened his mouth to reply as Bryn gagged, but before he could say anything, a noise like thunder echoed through the air. Morgan stiffened, immediately on alert as another loud boom rocked the air, followed by the faint sounds of shattering wood. Perking up his ears, he listened, leaning on his draconic senses, and from the city, he heard screaming.

"What is it? Morgan?" Nick asked, voice urgent. "Accident or?"

"Cannon fire," replied Morgan. Untangling himself from his boyfriend, he got to his feet and rushed to the window, Nick and Bryn right on his heels. His heart sank. The harbour was burning, and there were black-sailed ships in the harbor, flying unfamiliar colours, and there were dozens of them.

"What is it? I can't see!" asked Bryn, trying and failing to squeeze past Nick and him to peer through the window.

"We're under attack," said Nick, his face draining of colour. "The Southern Isles have rebelled."

* * *

"Put your backs into it, you bloody oafs. If we fail, the master will have our hides!"

Prince Hans paced the deck of his flagship, _The Westerheart's Revenge_ , and around him, his crew scrambled to obey his orders. They were the lacklustre scum of the world's many harbors, dredged up because they preferred a life of piracy to the gallows. Wastrels and filth, the lot of them, but they would suffice for the job at hand. Finally, after all these decades, he would have his revenge.

Before him, Arendelle burned. Under the fire of his cannons, the harbor walls had given way, and the wharves lay in sinking splinters. The warehouses crumbled, engulfed in flames, and thick smoke clung to the air, blackening the snow. The twin ships that had sailed out to meet his assault were at the bottom of the bay, their crews drowned. _Foolish, Queen Elsa, foolish indeed._ In her haste to put down the Hollow Ones in the Imperium, she had left her homeland all but defenseless, and who was there to stand in his way?

The Prince? He snorted. Odile had assured him that she had dealt him a grievous injury, and she had shattered his staff during their battle. If the rumours were to be believed, he was powerless without it, and indeed, it appeared as though the whisperings were true. The Dragon? Odile had broken his wings. As for the rest… Prince Hans scoffed. Princess Anna had a spine of steel, but she was a weak woman, and her oaf of a husband, whilst a seasoned warrior, was not the type to fight an entire army on his own. If anything, the most trouble might come from the daughter, but she was a child, and whatever shamanic nonsense she could rustle up would be easily disposed off.

The cannons fired, and the screams of the civilians were music to his ears. His army was not the largest in the world, but he had brought all the strength of the Southern Isles, including his mother, Queen Narissa, as well as his own motley band. It would be more than enough, he knew. He looked around. His mother's ship, _The Enchanted_ , was a mighty dromond, and four rows of cannons fired upon the city. The cannonballs gleamed with pale yellow light, and he smirked at the force with which they struck.

"Do not underestimate our enemies, Hans," said Rolf, his youngest brother, coming to stand beside him. "I know that look. There is more at stake here than your vendetta."

"Calm yourself, Rolf," he replied, rolling his eyes. His brother had always been a worrier, and a placid man at that, which had come in very helpful after the last rebellion. Rolf had alienated himself from the conflict, and when the dust settled, he'd been granted their lands. _Another error, Queen Elsa. You sought to soothe the troubled islands you had claimed by putting a familiar face on the throne, but our memories run deep, and our thirst for revenge deeper._

Still, they were pawns, the lot of them. If Rolf should fall in the battle, then that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. It would leave the throne of his homeland empty, his for the taking, so long as he didn't mind getting his hands a little bloody when disposing of his nephew. He rolled his eyes. The boy was a sickly runt, and chances were that he'd die on his own long before he even got the chance.

"I raised my flags in rebellion and gathered my men, not for you, but for our father and brothers, may they rest in peace," retorted Rolf. "The fact that our forces are striking together is a happy accident, but doubtless it will be useful to have some fodder for when Prince Nicholas strikes."

Before Hans could voice his contempt at that idea, a ghastly roar split the air. His eyes widened as his men yelled in surprise and terror, for a dragon was rising from the castle, spewing flames into the sky. _Curse that witch._ He should have known better than to trust Odile's word. Amoré had been her second failure, after all, and she'd likely been trying to save face.

No matter. He had planned for such an occasion.

"Take aim and fire the ballistae," he bellowed.

The gears creaked and groaned as the men obeyed, and as the dragon neared, they fired. With an almighty twang, the iron bolts shot into the sky, and the dragon roared as it flew out of the way, veering far to the right. Hans gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes as his men reloaded. There was someone on the dragon's back, he realized, but all he could see from this distance was a tiny speck of white. _The prince._

"A hundred golden coins to the man who brings down that dragon," he yelled, shoving Rolf out of the way. Grasping the nearest ballista, he swung it with all his strength, shifting it until he had the dragon in his sights. It was approaching from the right, keeping itself high in the sky, and a fireball burst from its maw.

 _The Enchanted_ would have been ruined had the fireball struck, but his mother was faster. Queen Narissa raised a hand, and a pale yellow barrier enveloped her ship. The fireball struck it, hissing and spluttering as it burned out, and he nodded at her. Taking aim as the dragon dove in to unleash another volley of flames, he fired the ballista, missing the beast's throat by a few inches.

Reloading, he looked up at the sound of cracking wood. Another ship, _The Swordfish,_ was missing its mast, and Hans' glare deepened as he spotted the dragon clutching it in his jaws. The beast spun before lobbing the mast at the ship, and with a sharp crack, it pierced the hull like a spear. But, he had flown in too close, and Hans smirked as he fired.

The bolt tore through the air, aimed right at the dragon's chest.

* * *

"Morgan, watch out," yelled Nick, holding onto his boyfriend's spikes for dear life. Not thinking, he flung out a wrist. Frost rippled from his fingers, catching the bolt in midair and freezing it. As it plummeted into the sea, Morgan growled, beating his wings and taking to the skies.

" _Thanks, Frosty,"_ Morgan thought-spoke. Fixing a molten-eye upon the ships below them, Morgan roared. " _Fools. I'll bury their ashes at sea."_

Nick groaned. His head hurt, and it was difficult to use this much magic without his staff. He'd been keeping the bolts away from Morgan as best he could, but to be honest, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it up. It was humiliating in its own way, given what he could usually do with his staff in hand. Leaning in, he rested against Morgan's spike, taking a deep breath to try and gather himself.

Below them, the ships drew nearer to the ruined harbor, and there were just too many of them. Worse still, they had brought a magic user, and if Narissa Westergaard was still half as powerful as she had been in her youth, then they were in serious trouble. Time… that was what they needed to buy now, and that was why he and Morgan had taken to the skies in the first place, to buy his uncle enough time to evacuate the civilians and prepare the castle itself for siege.

Like it or not, their forces were few, to few to hold the entire city, and trying to defend it would be a fool's errand. _Mum, I wish you were here._ His mother would have dealt with the incursion in seconds, releasing her blizzard and freezing the ocean itself around the city, turning all those who dared invade Arendelle to blocks of ice. But, he was not his mother. He was not as powerful, and without his staff…

The castle bells began to ring, and he nodded. _Uncle Kristoff's signal._ Tapping Morgan on the head, he tightened his grip on the spike as his boyfriend veered to the left, narrowly missing a bolt that would have otherwise skewered him through the wing.

"Morgan," he gasped. "Fly back. You heard the bells."

" _Right."_

Morgan turned sharply, flying back over the city, and Nick kept his gaze straight ahead, not wanting to look down upon the shattered coastline. Arendelle was more than his kingdom… it was his home, and the shops that were burning were shops he had visited many times over the years, and he had known the storekeepers by their names. The chapel had collapsed into itself, and it had been the chapel in which he'd been christened. And, the harbor… how many times had he walked across the wharves…

Anger flared up in him, hot and heavy, and his eyes gleamed as the blizzard responded. Shards of ice descended from the sky around him, shattering upon the ground and solidifying into a frozen wall, and a dribble of blood ran from his nose as he strained to maintain it. His mother could call the winter storm in an instant, without batting an eye, and now he had to step up and do the same. He drew upon his anger and his rage, and he used it as fuel, pouring it into his spell as he whipped the wind into a frenzy.

" _Nick, stop, you can't."_

His concentration slipped at his boyfriend's intrusion into his mind, and the blizzard dissipated as swiftly as it had come. The wall of ice remained, cutting the enemy fleet off from the city itself, and it would buy them time. His shoulders slumped as he leaned forward, gasping for breath and dabbing at his bloodied nose with his sleeve, stifling a groan. Morgan was right. If he kept pushing, he'd break, and he needed to remember his limits.

Circling the castle, Morgan descended into the courtyard. As Nick climbed off, green smoke billowed from his boyfriend's scales, and he shrunk, clothes appearing on his body as he did so. Stretching, Morgan nodded, reaching out a hand to steady him as he swayed, and then Uncle Kristoff was there, dressed in his armor, his battle-axe strapped to his back.

"Aunt Anna?" asked Nick, looking up.

"If Tsar Luna is good, she and the girls will be halfway to the Troll Village by now. She didn't want to go, but I insisted. Bryn and Morrigan will be safer with her than with just Olaf and Sven."

Nick nodded, glancing around the courtyard. The guards had sealed the gates, and thick wooden beams had been put in place to reinforce the locks. Taking a deep breath, he extended a hand, and his frost burst out, sealing it completely. Coughing, he sank against Morgan, and Uncle Kristoff reached out a hand to grasp him by the shoulder.

"I wish I could tell you to go inside and rest, Nick," he said, sounding strained. "But…"

"I know, Uncle Kristoff," he replied, nodding and ignoring the pounding in his head. "I know. Go, prepare the men. I'll find my armor and find you in a few minutes."

His uncle squeezed his shoulder before hurrying off, and Nick leaned on his boyfriend as Morgan helped him into the castle. Godmother, he was weak, and this was embarrassing. He needed to be strong, to stand tall in the face of the attack, but he _needed_ his staff, and without his powers, he was just another swordsman. Swallowing, he straightened his back, pinching himself to remain alert.

"You sure you're okay, Frosty?" asked Morgan, one arm hooked around his shoulders to keep him upright.

"I'm fine," said Nick, gently extricating himself from his boyfriend's grasp. "I'm going to put on my armour. Do me a favour and go to the rookery. Send a message to Corona, but send it directly to Cornelius so it doesn't get lost in Queen Rapunzel's inbox. We need reinforcements. I'll meet you back here in fifteen."

Morgan nodded, looking unsure about leaving him, and then his boyfriend took off at a sprint, taking the stairs two at a time. Nick gritted his teeth and headed for his bedroom. Without his staff, magic was difficult, and he was a lot weaker than he normally was. Without his staff, he couldn't make full use of his powers. Without his staff, he was just another swordsman, only his sword was made of ice.

He took a deep breath.

Without his staff, he was still the crown prince of Arendelle, and he'd be damned if he let Prince Hans take his mother's throne.

* * *

 _I should have broken the seal…_ Anna's mind was heavy as she rode down the frozen trail, Morrigan cradled in one arm and Bryn sitting in front of her, arms wrapped around the reindeer's neck.. Sven kept a steady pace, and he needed little guidance, which was for the best, given that she only had one hand free to grip the reins.

She could still smell the smoke, even though there was already a fair amount of distance between Arendelle and her. _Kristoff. Nick. Morgan. Be safe._ She should have stayed, and she would have, but she had to put her daughters first. If the castle was to come under siege, her children would be at risk, and while Bryn may be able to take care of herself to some extent, Morrigan was just over a month old, and a besieged castle was no place for an infant.

 _I should have broken the seal._ The thought echoed in her mind, and she bit her lip. It was not her place, and Elsa had always intended to wait until Nick turned twenty-one, but the situation has changed. She should have made a judgement call. She should have broken the seal and given Nick the weapon his father had left him, especially now that he didn't have his staff. But… it was dangerous, but defending Arendelle was also dangerous, and Jack would never have left the weapon for Nick if it would have truly caused her nephew harm.

She was torn. The notion had only come to her as she'd ridden out of the castle, and by then it had been too late. Nick had already been in the sky, riding Morgan through the sky to give her and the civilians cover to make their escape, and if she waited, she risked her daughters. There was no telling how long before the outer defenses failed and the castle itself was surrounded.

"They'll be okay, won't they, Mummy?"

Anna flinched at the fear evident in Bryn's voice, because her daughter was a fearless girl. Taking a deep breath to steady her own voice, she nodded.

"Of course they will, sweetheart."

"Then, why are we running?"

"Because it is better to be safe than to be sorry, and the frontlines are no place for young girls."

Bryn fell silent, and Anna sighed. Her daughter was perceptive, and it was no surprise that she'd clued herself in to the severity of the situation. Still, they would be safe. Beneath her blouse, she wore her chainmail, and her sword was sheathed across her back. A trio of guards rode with them, and though she had been loathe to take any men, her husband had insisted.

 _Please, be safe._

Sven snorted, rearing up, and she yelped in alarm as she fought to keep her balance. As the reindeer came to a halt, she raised a hand, calling for silence. Warily, she glanced around. Something was wrong. Around them, the trees rose tall and foreboding, and in the distance she saw the ravine they'd been heading for. The bridge was gone, barring her path, and she bit her lip. They'd have to go around, which would take an extra day.

Then, out the corner of her eye, _something_ moved.

"Princess Anna, get behind us," yelled Claude, dismounting his reindeer and coming to stand before her. His sword glimmered in his hand as he drew it, facing the woods, and the other guardsmen joined him, forming a triangle around her. Bryn was shivering, and Morrigan began to fuss at her breast as she drew her sword, glancing around, listening to the _thud-thud-thud_ of heavy footfalls and the rattling breaths.

 _No… it can't be… not here… not in Arendelle…_

The first Hollow One emerged from the treeline, four times her height, and the thick stitches appeared to be all that was holding it together. Six arms clutched various rusted weapons, and pus oozed from its torn skin. Focusing a single yellowed eye on her, it roared, and then the second appeared, followed by the third.

"Mummy!" Bryn's voice was high and shrill, cutting the air like a razor, and Anna's heart sank.

They were outnumbered and surrounded, and the bridge was gone. And, she had her daughters with her. Morrigan began to wail as if sensing her terror, and Bryn was shrieking, and the guardsmen were fanning out, levelling their blades in front of them, with a grim mixture of fear and determination glinting in their eyes.

"Princess Anna, we will buy you what time we can," said Claude. "You and the princesses must flee."

Had her daughters not been with her, she would have refused. Had Morrigan not been at her breast, had Bryn not seated in front of her, she would have dismounted Sven and made her stand with her men. She was no damsel in distress, and she had never been. But, her daughters' lives were more important than her honour, and she had to run, even if it killed her inside to abandon her comrades to their deaths.

"Thank you," she whispered, digging the spurs into Sven's flanks as she spoke.

"No thanks are needed, Milady," said Claude. "We swore an oath to Arendelle, to guard your lives with our own, and we intend to keep that vow. Now go."

Sven needed no further encouragement, turning and taking off at a gallop. Bryn was sobbing into the reindeer's head, and Morrigan was still wailing, her cries deafening. The woods were alive around her, and Anna bit her lip as she caught sight of the Hollow Ones stampeding through the trees, hot on Sven's hooves. The reindeer was faithful and sturdy, but he was old as well, and he couldn't maintain his current speed forever… and her enemy was tireless.

"Bryn, if ever there was a time for your magic, now would be it," she said, shaking her daughter's shoulder. It was not the best solution in the world, but it was all she had to work with, and she had to make sure the girls survived. _She had to._ And, she had to survive as well, for them. Bryn was still to young to care for her sister, and who knew what was happening in Arendelle if there were Hollow Ones in the woods. _Tsar Luna, the village…_ If Hollow Ones had infiltrated the woods… _Grand Pabbie…_

Her daugher sat up in the saddle, eyes flickering with uncertainty. Raising her hands, the familiar earthly glow swirled around her fingers, and her teeth chattered as tears ran down her cheeks.

"Roots and vines, the monsters shall bind," Bryn whimpered, and the swirling light burst from her hands, diving deep into the ground. The earth shook, and a dozen trailing roots tore their way free of the soil, writhing like snakes as they ensnared the Hollow Ones, holding them in place. Almost immediately, the creatures began to hack at the roots, ripping them apart with their rusted weapons, but it was enough.

"Go Sven," urged Anna. "The Winter Palace. Elsa's wards still hold strong around the place. Go."

* * *

The Nightmare King walked alone, for he needed no army, and all who stood in his path crumbled like dust.

The white marble cracked beneath his feet, and the temples shattered at his sides. Trees withered, growing twisted and black, and the grass shrivelled. Flowers wilted, and the air grew thick with the scent of decay. Raising his hands into the air, he took a deep breath, letting his shadows swirl around him, and the last of the satyrs and nymphs who had charged against him collapsed into heaps of ash.

A thunderbolt struck him in the chest with enough force to level a mountain range, and he grinned. _That tickles._ The gods assailed him from all directions. A brilliant burst of sunlight hit him in the back, and a trio of silver arrows buried themselves in his gut. A scythe slashed through the air, passing through him like his body was not even there, and a trident flared as green-blue light enveloped him. Swords and spears and fists struck him, and vines burst from the ground, ensnaring him as a burly ginger punched him in the face.

He chuckled. "My turn now."

With a single movement, the vines broke, and he reached out to grasp the first god by the throat. Lifting the man into the air, he cocked his head. _The god of strength indeed._ Flicking his wrist, he broke the god's neck, and his grin grew wider at the shockwave that flashed out from the god's corpse.

"Herc, No!" A goddess shrieked, and he turned just in time to see the blinding blast of violet light. The force was staggering, and he was certain that any lesser being would have been vaporized. Still, he took a step back before reaching out and shoving a hand through her chest. Her heart thudded between his fingers, and he squeezed, feeling it burst like a balloon.

She collapsed into a heap of wilting flower petals, and then he was turning to face the rest, drawing his scythe from the shadows and whirling it through the air, rending them to shreds.

It did not take him long, and he leered as he took in the carnage. It had been so long since a situation required his personal intervention, but it was dreadfully difficult to find good help these days. Some of his new pets were doing quite well, whilst others… He rolled his eyes. Odile had still not shown her face after the mess she'd left in Amoré, and as for Cruella. Well, that one was his own fault. To be honest, he wasn't even sure why'd he'd invited her to his council.

He snapped his fingers, and the shadows whirled at his side. From the darkness, one of his more accomplished pets stepped out, and instantly kneeled. Good, he was learning respect. Jafar had been rather full of himself when he'd first been freed, but it hadn't taken long for the Nightmare King to show him who truly was in charge.

"You summoned me, My Lord?" asked Jafar, rising to his feet. "I assure you, the subjugation of the Imperium is running quite smoothly."

"Indeed," he replied. "And yet, you've been losing ground. Tell me, Jafar, was it a mistake to entrust you with this task? Can you not handle two measly queens?"

"Queen Elsa and Queen Ariel are two of the most powerful women in the world," he retorted, clenching his fist. "And that wretched Princess of Berk cannot be touched in the sky. Hollow Ones do not have wings."

"I am not angry, Jafar, so there really is no need to grow defensive," he said, leaning in and leering. "I have long since known that Queen Elsa would prove to be a particular thorn in my side."

It was funny, really. Every soldier in the world could march against him, and every soldier would die. He was so ancient that a thousand years could pass without him feeling it, and he was so powerful that Tsar Luna himself had been forced to descend from his celestial abode to put him down the last time. He sneered. This time, he was being more careful, though, and soon enough, the old Man in the Moon would no longer stand in his way.

This time, he had gathered pawns to do his dirty work. The Guardians could not face him if they could not find him, and he was keeping to the shadows whilst his pets did his bidding. Eventually, he would face the Guardians, but he'd be bringing a few friends for company, and if all went to plan, their beloved Tsar Luna would not be in any shape to help them during the battle.

Finally, at long last, this world would return to the state it was meant to. Once more, the nightmares would rule. He was careful this time, dismantling his enemies one by one, and when the first wave had battered the shores, he would fall back to the shadows. Let them have a respite, however brief, to drop their guard, and whilst the world recovered, he would deal with the Guardians. When, at last he was ready for his death blow, then there would be nothing, and nobody, to stand in his way.

"You have done as I asked?" Finally, he spoke, deciding he had kept Jafar waiting long enough.

"Lady Mulan's body has been delivered to Gothel and Ursula," said Jafar, nodding stiffly. "And Gothel has already gotten the bones Odile recovered from Amoré, though the other one… Ursula's scrying spell have revealed that the remains are not buried on this world."

"I suspected as much," he said. "He would have kept her close." That complicated matters. He pursed his lips. It would have to wait. The remains he needed were coming together, slowly but steadily.

"Now, I did not summon you to discuss your errands," he continued. Bending over, he picked up Zeus's quiver and extricated his last thunderbolt. Perfect. One was all he needed. Extending a hand, he urged Jafar to take it. Electricity raced through his pawn's body, and his eyes widened.

"My Lord, what is this?" asked Jafar. "Such power."

"It is a weapon capable of killing a demigod," he replied. "I trust you know what to do with it?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then, you may take your leave."

Waving a hand, Pitch Black dismissed Jafar in a swirl of shadows, and he glanced around him. It had been a risk, coming here and showing his power, but it had seemed that the Guardians had not been paying much attention to Olympus. It was their mistake. Now, Olympus and the Gods who called it home had fallen, and soon, so would the rest of the world.

* * *

 _Beneath the silk, the bitter steel._

That had been her motto for as long as she could remember. Sigrun was a princess, raised from birth to one day rule from her mother's throne, just as her half-sister, Hrist, had been raised to rule from their father's. Yet, beneath the silks and lace, the gowns of velvet and taffeta, she wore her armor, and she wielded the ancient spear of her father's homeland, Gungnir. She had been raised as both a future queen and a warrior, and she wore her scars as proudly as she did her crown.

Yet, never before had she been so terrified as today, as she stared out over the unending sea of Hollow Ones and Nightmares, and the Fearlings which rose to darken the skies. All the forces of the Nightmare King, if the legends were to be believed, and there were other rumours, dark whispers of Faceless and beings darker still wandering the countryside, headed their way.

"Urðr," she whispered, stroking her dragon's scales. "Will you carry me to battle, one last time?"

The dragon roared in response, his emerald scales glimmering beneath the midday sun, and she sighed. Her faithful steed had been with her since he'd been an egg, and he'd grown with her through the years. There were rumours of hybrids in distant lands, of dragons who could speak and take the forms of humans, but her own mount was a purebred, laid in the crags of Berk and stolen from his nest by scum who wished to sell him on the black market. Her father had found the egg and dealt with the guilty, and he had presented her the egg, hoping she would bond with a dragon as he had.

Urðr was not Toothless, but her emerald drake was still a formidable creature, and like her, he had earned his scars.

Below her, Jian was marshalling their foot soldiers, if they could even be called that. Of the Imperium's once magnificent army, only a handful remained, and the core of their forces were civilians, forced to wield pitchforks and scythes in defence of their lives and homes. The rest of the civilians—the old, the crippled, and the infants—had already departed, hoping to reach Queen Elsa's position before the route was blocked, but Sigrun did not believe they would make it. Her lover had send his second-in-command to guide them through the pass, but Azura's expression had been the same as his, the same as hers.

Hope had died the minute they had seen the army. They had been winning, but it must have been a trick, for the army they faced was ten times the size of the force that had laid waste to the Imperial Palace, and Sigrun knew, in her very heart of hearts, that they would all die in this strange land. She could run… She knew that she could, and there would be nobody who'd dare blame her for flying off as swiftly as she'd come.

But, she was a warrior, and she had never run.

 _May Tsar Luna protect them,_ she thought, and then, the Hollow Ones charged. Lumbering and clumsy, they roared, raising their cleavers and axes, and the ground trembled beneath their monstrous feet. The Nightmares whinnied, breaking into a gallop, and the Fearlings shrieked as the dove from the clouds.

"Into the sky," she shrieked, raising her spear. "Dragon Riders of Berk, to the sky, for victory or death."

The rider's warcry would usually be enough to incite terror in all mortal creatures, but the enemy they faced did not so much as balk. Then, all thoughts left her as Urðr dove, emerald lightning spraying from his maw. A Fearling darted in, and she stabbed out with Gungnir, and it exploded into smoke. Then, as though she had never dispatched of it, it reformed, and so she killed it again before spurring Urðr back into the air.

An unearthly screech reached her ears, and she turned, eyes widening in horror as she saw Captain Hrid and his dragon plummet from the sky, a gaping hole in Fensalir's side. Fire and blood poured from the wound as the dragon hit the ground, writhing violently, and then beast and man both disappeared beneath a horde of Fearlings, and the dragon's screeches went silent.

A pack of spirit wolves raced across the battlefield, ripping through the Hollow Ones, and she saw Jian, fans unfurled as he fought. Whirling, her lover dug his fans into the earth, and spectral tentacles burst forth as a monstrous spirit octopus ripped free of the soil. Jian stood on the creature's head, directing the tentacles around him, and his brow gleamed with sweat as he fought with all the ferocity of a one-man army.

Then, Urðr was descending again, blasting the Hollows Ones with his breath, and Sigrun was stabbing in every direction she could, piercing the Fearlings before they could reform. _Tsar Luna, how can we fight what doesn't stay dead?_ Teeth sank into her cheek, and she batted the creature away as fast as she could, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Another scraped at her gorget, and a tiny fist collided with her eyepatch, sending a jolt of pain through the hollow socket beneath. Cursing, she whipped her spear around her, clearing the air, but just as quickly as she'd disposed of them, they reformed and renewed their attack.

Another dragon screeched, and there was a colossal thud as it hit the ground, and the foot soldiers had been put to rout. They fled in all directions, throwing down their weapons, and she spat, not sure whether to be disgusted by their cowardice or feel pity for their plight. They would die regardless, but it was better to die armed and fighting.

Then, the Fearlings broke, their screeches turning to squeals, and they fled. Stunned, she stared after them, not understanding, and below her, the Nightmares were doing the same. Clumsily, the Hollow Ones looked around them, and a burst of starlight ripped through the air. Like a white comet, the starlight descended, slamming into the ground and leaving a blazing crater in its wake, and the Hollow Ones crumpled to ash. A Nightmare was caught in the blast, and it disintegrated. Miraculously, it did not reform.

Sigrun looked up, her eyes widening. A young, almost elfin, boy dressed all in green floated across the clear night sky, framed by the full moon. His eyes glinted with malice, and his dagger glinted like white fire. Around him, the stars blazed, and like rain, they released their fires.

"Urðr," she urged. "Jian." Her dragon swooped down, grasping her lover in its front paw before rising into the sky. He yelped, caught by surprise, and his octopus flickered and vanished beneath them. Sigrun breathed a sigh of relief. Like her, he was bleeding, and he'd have a fresh crop of bruises come the morning, but they were alive. Somehow, by some miracle, they were alive. Around her, the burning stars descended, and she raised her spear, signalling to her surviving dragon riders to retreat.

As Urðr flew, the elfin boy floated down, and perched upon her dragon's head. Crossing one leg over the other, he raised an eyebrow.

"My intervention comes once in a lifetime, you know," he said, "But, Old Manny does permit me more freedom than the others. There are no rules in Neverland, and he knows following decrees are not in my nature. I don't take without giving as well."

"Who are you?" she asked, thankful and wary in the same breath. She did not know if he was friend or foe, but he had mentioned Old Manny, and he seemed to have command of starlight. Somewhere, recognition flickered in the back of her mind, but she could not place him, not for the life of her.

"Rather refreshing to not be recognised," he said, smiling. "How about we just say I'm someone who likes the world the way it is, and that I'd prefer not to let Ol' Pitch have his way. And, a friend of mine's wife has gone and gotten herself mixed up in this mess, and his hands are a bit tied, but mine aren't, are they?"

"You're not… Lord Pan?" _What a time to be alive._ Guardians and the Nightmare King's armies. It was rather overwhelming, and she felt the distinct urge to lie down. Flustered and just a bit starstruck, she ignored Jian's yelled attempts at finding out who she was talking to, and she rubbed at her eyes, quite certain that she was dreaming.

" _Lord_ Pan? That one's new." He chuckled. "Now, like I said, once in a lifetime, so try not to die anytime soon." Leaping off Urðr's head, he took off into night, heading for the second star on the right.

.

If asked, he'd shrug it off and simply say it was to help in the war effort against Pitch. If pressed, he'd fly off, rolling his eyes at the seriousness. The truth, however, was so much simpler.

Peter had many secrets, and whilst it was true that his heart had always belonged to Tink, he'd always had a soft spot for a certain lost girl who'd been to Neverland once, almost three-hundred years ago.

And though the generations may have passed like mere days, there was simply no denying that Sigrun Brave had her great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother's eyes.

"Gwendolyn Darling," he said, as he hovered amongst the stars. "You definitely would be proud."


	27. The Frozen Heart of Arendelle: Part 2

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

 **The Frozen Heart of Arendelle**

 **Part Two: Eclipse**

* * *

"It must be difficult to endure what you have," said Queen Rapunzel, raising her teacup to her lips. "How have you been coping, Alyssa?"

Alyssa sighed. They were seated at a small table on the queen's balcony, staring out across the bustling city. Corona was a beautiful place, and it was her home now, as Cornelius' wife and as the kingdom's future queen consort, but, despite how welcoming her in-laws had been, it didn't quite feel like home. Home was Amoré, both its roses and its thorns, and… her home was no more.

"I… you have been to kind to me, Queen Rapunzel," she said, reaching for a biscuit. "After all I've put Cornelius through, you would be well within your rights to hate me."

"Many would, but I know my son," Rapunzel replied. "He'd have done the same for any of his friends, but perhaps you most of all. And please, you are my daughter by marriage now. There's no need to call me by my title."

"I'm sorry, but it would feel weird to call you by your first name alone, Queen Rapunzel," she said. "I—"

"Then by royal edict, you will call me Rapunzel. Perhaps it may have escaped your mind, but you and I are of the same rank now, are we not?" she said, her eyes twinkling. "We're family as well, though I do have a bone to pick with you over having me miss my son's wedding."

Alyssa gulped. When she had been invited to tea with the queen, she had expected a severe scolding, even if that didn't quite strike her as being in her mother-in-law's nature. Yet, for all her sweetness and light-heartedness, there was no denying that Queen Rapunzel was known to always speak her mind, no matter how cutting her opinions might be. Perhaps there'd be a frosty atmosphere and heated words aimed her way now that Cornelius wasn't around to see, because she knew that she'd caused the queen no small amount of grief, despite not meaning to.

But, that was the point, wasn't it. She never _meant_ to, but it happened all the same. Alyssa acted without thinking, and she rarely balked when things exploded, because the damage never really reached her. Typically, she got what she wanted and that was the end of it, but… she couldn't go on like that. It was deplorable behaviour, looking back, and she needed to rein in her impulsiveness if she was to grow as a person, to be worthy of the love her husband gave her.

He had risked everything for her… and all she'd done was put him in the position where'd he had to. No, she had to be more now, and she couldn't dwell on her past failings. Even if it wasn't the easiest thing in the world to deal with her husband's emotional issues along with her own, it was oddly comforting to support him, to lend him her strength as he lent her his. The days since Amoré had been difficult, but they were closer now than they'd ever been.

Realizing she hadn't yet replied, she pinched herself.

"Your rank?" she asked. "Forgive me, but I am a queen without a throne, a kingdom, or a crown. My people are dead, my country in ruins, and calling myself the Queen of Amoré strikes me as… it would be as though King Siegfried's long lost child suddenly showed up and declared themselves the ruler of Oloria, even if there is no Oloria to rule."

"I see your point but, no matter the logistics, you are still a queen, and nobody can take that from you, Alyssa," said Queen Rapunzel. "Besides, Amoré is ruined but not lost, and you do remain. Perhaps, one day, your kingdom can be reclaimed from the Nightmare."

Alyssa looked at the queen, taken off guard. The thought had never crossed her mind, not once, because Amoré was _dead_ , and her kingdom still swarmed with Hollow Ones and other darker creatures. The thorns still ruled the land, and there was no entry… but, if she was to reclaim it… she could never return to her castle, and she could never, not in good faith, sit her father's throne.

Not after her last act to him had been to fling her crown, his legacy, to his feet, and curse his name as she stormed out the door.

"If that day comes, then there will be no Amoré," she said softly. "There will simply be a larger Corona."

Now, it was Rapunzel's turn to look surprised. The queen sipped her tea, masking her lips with her cup, but Alyssa could see the shock in her mother-in-law's eyes. Annexation was not something taken lightly, and it often took years to properly iron one out. Still, the truth of the matter was that there was no Amoré, not anymore, and the kingdom wouldn't even have its current queen if not for Corona. And, she was married to Cornelius, and would it not be easier to rule one country than two?

Thinking it wise to change the subject, she thought back, and remembered that Rapunzel had mentioned her wedding. She flushed lightly at the memory: Nick's nervousness as she stumbled through the ceremony, Morgan's jokes as he bound their license, Cornelius' jitters both before and after they'd been wed, her own fluttering heart.

"Rapunzel," she said, testing the name. It felt odd to say it without the prefixed title. "The wedding was a very short affair. Just our vows in Nick's study, and a hastily signed wedding contract. I… we were hoping to eventually have a proper wedding, but if I'm being honest, not in the near future."

"Your parents?" said Rapunzel, and her words were light yet questioning, and Alyssa had to remind herself that her mother-in-law, despite her sunny disposition, was a very intelligent woman who had led her country for a very long time.

"My relationship with my father has always been difficult," she replied, her voice growing thick. "It was both our faults. For a long time, I blamed him and him alone, but I had my faults as well. In the end, though, I loved him, and I always hoped he'd one day be accepting enough to walk me down the aisle… and my mother… I just wish… I want to know what became of them, even if I know they're dead. Amoré… nothing survived, and when my curse was broken, I tried to find their scents and did, but they didn't smell… alive…"

Rapunzel hugged her, patting her on the back, and Alyssa took a deep breath to steady herself. She had wept herself to sleep for nearly two weeks now, and she couldn't keep crying. There was nothing she could do for them now but honour their memories, and she couldn't do that if she was a grieving mess.

"The ones we love never truly leave us," said Rapunzel. "They always remain, right here, in our hearts."

"Thank you," said Alyssa, breaking the embrace and drying her eyes on her sleeve. Glancing out across the city, she sighed, wishing to turn the conversation back to its original trajectory. "As I was saying, I don't think I'm quite up to a wedding right now, and I doubt that Cornelius is."

"Which would be for the best," said Rapunzel, nodding. "You both need time to heal after your ordeals, and I dare say that with the war in the Imperium, Regina usurping the throne of Renvale, and Tsar Luna knows what else, a royal wedding may be in poor taste."

Just there was a knock on the door, and Rapunzel turned in her chair, raising a curious eyebrow. As she called for whoever it was to enter, Alyssa rose to leave, but a wave from the queen had her sitting back down.

"Your majesty," said a courtier, walking into the room with a pale expression on his face. "This just arrived from the south-west border."

"Eléadoré?" asked Alyssa, and Rapunzel nodded as she accepted the letter. _They've been silent for so long… whatever could they want?_

Unrolling it, the queen's face grew pale, and her eyes grew wide as saucers. Pursing her lips, she looked up, her hands trembling, and Alyssa could only stare in confusion. Obviously, whatever message the letter had contained was bad, but to warrant such a reaction…

"This must be a mistake," said Rapunzel, glancing back down at the letter and then at the courtier. "Why would Cinderella… no, it must be a mistake."

"What is it?" asked Alyssa, a shiver running down her spine.

"Eléadoré has declared war on Corona," said Rapunzel in a hollow voice. "Their armies are marching as we speak, sacking every village they come across, butchering my people… but… I don't understand… Henry and I are allied monarchs… the council… this doesn't make sense."

Then, the queen's expression hardened, and she rose from her seat. Setting down the letter, her eyes glinted, and she reached up to straighten her crown.

"Whatever their reason, whatever madness has possessed them, I will not stand for this. You." She pointed at the courtier. "Find my husband and son, and assemble my war council. Then, send every word to every noble in Corona." Turning to Alyssa, she nodded. "If Cinderella wants a war, then I'll give her one."

* * *

"So, marriage huh?" asked his father, coming to take a seat beside him on the bench. "We haven't really had a chance to talk about it, given everything that's gone on, so how's it going?"

Cornelius looked up, rolling his eyes at his father. They'd been training, because apparently he was getting rusty, which he didn't agree with. True, he was a little stiffer than he'd been before Arendelle, but in his defence, he'd been very preoccupied. He hardly got to see Nick these days, and spending a few weeks with his cousin had been fun, though to be honest, he'd spent most of his time sneaking around with his wife. Then, there'd been the trouble in the Imperium, and he'd had to hurry home so his mother could attend to business. Then, Amoré had fallen, and he'd rushed off to help Alyssa, and if he was a little stiff, it was because his shoulder was still healing from her fangs.

His love-bite, he'd jokingly referred to it the night before, and his wife had grown very grim, warning him to never call it that again. Cornelius sighed. She was taking what had happened harder than he had, but then again, his were inner demons of a different sort. It made no sense. He'd been fine before finding out, and he'd been able to sail without panic, but after the realization… he closed his eyes, not wanting to think about it.

"It's different," he replied finally. "Good different, but I think it would be easier if, you know."

"The two of you hadn't eloped in secret and then nearly died?" supplied his father, raising an eyebrow. "Well, all love stories are messy, and some are messier than most, but you're happy with her, aren't you?"

"I am." Cornelius smiled. "Tsar Luna knows I have issues and she has issues, but they don't seem that bad when we're together. You know? It's like, I don't really know how to put it into words without sounding like a sap, but I... you know?"

"I know," said his father, leaning over to ruffle his hair. "My little boy's all grown up, isn't he? Gah, I'm old."

Cornelius grinned, reaching out to punch his father in the shoulder. He'd always cherished the bond he had with his father, because he'd never had a problem that he couldn't go to him with. From learning to shave to learning to fight, to the awkward talks when he'd been going through puberty, all the way to their talk in the tower in Arendelle, his dad had always been there to lend him a guiding hand, and he didn't know what he'd do without him.

It didn't escape his notice that when his father smiled, there were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there a few years ago, or that the hair around his temples had begun to go grey. His father was growing older, and it showed in his appearance. Cornelius sighed. It was a difficult thing to acknowledge, that his dad may not always be there for him, but he couldn't deny that the thought had crossed his mind quite a few times in recent years. His wife had lost her parents, and somehow, that had made him realize that his mum and dad weren't immortal.

"Dad, I never thanked you for everything, did I?" he asked, looking up. "For, you know, just being my dad?"

"A secret shared by all parents is that we never expect a verbal thank you," replied his father, quirking an eyebrow. "We just know. What's brought this on,then?"

"Well, Alyssa told me that the last thing she said to her father will haunt her for the rest of the life, even if she didn't go into details, and I don't want to do the same," he said, shrugging. "I mean, we're not on bad terms, not like Alyssa was with her father, and I'm not jinxing you, but, it's just… Dad, just take the thank you, will you?"

"In that case, you're welcome," said Eugene, pausing to consider him. "Now, how about he talk about something more cheerful?" He raised a finger to his brow, looking exaggeratingly thoughtful, and as though a lightbulb had gone off in his head, he grinned. Reaching out to nudge Cornelius in the ribs, he waggled his eyebrows.

"So, when can I expect my first grandchild?" He grinned as Cornelius flushed, looking away. "You've just reminded me that I'm getting on in years, and I think I'd like to still be fit enough to run after the little tyke without breaking a hip."

"Dad, I'm sixteen." Cornelius frowned. "Sure, you'll have grandchildren someday, but not right now. Maybe in like ten years."

He could see them if he thought hard enough, a boy with his wife's hair and a girl with his eyes, and two would likely be enough. Being an only child was difficult and slightly lonely, but luckily he'd had Nick to be his almost-brother, even if a literal ocean lay between them. In some respects, he'd once imagined his children playing with those of his cousin's, but that had changed when the realization had come that Nick would likely never have kids.

Shaking himself when he realized he was getting off-topic, he looked up to see his father was regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

"She is on the proper potions, in that case?"

"Potions?" Now, he was confused. His wife was not the type to medicate, and save for the potion she took at every full moon, she didn't take any.

"Cornelius." His father sighed, rolling his eyes. "Birth Control."

"Oh," he said, feeling like smacking himself. Flushing slightly, he rubbed at the back of his neck. Well, this conversation had certainly taken a turn for the embarrassingly. "Well, you see, the thing is, I usually take care of that."

He did, and he hoped his father wouldn't ask him to elaborate. It was a simple method, and though there had been a few slip-ups, he was quite good about pulling out in time to _release_ somewhere other than inside her. It was science or something, and he'd read it in a book once, though he wasn't quite sure why he'd been reading it at the time.

His father sighed, face-palming. Reaching out to sling an arm over his shoulders, Eugene patted him on the shoulder, and shook his head.

"Cornelius, if that method worked, you wouldn't be here."

He spluttered, but was spared having to answer as the door to the training room swung open. Cassandra strode in, her lips pursed, and she held a letter in her hand. Catching sight of the glob of white wax on the seal, Cornelius was on his feet in an instant, grateful for the distraction.

"A letter from Arendelle, Cor," said Cassandra. Glancing at his father, his mother's handmaiden nodded. "Eugene, you look rather tired. Has the training been wearing on your old bones?"

"Oi, who're you calling old?" asked Eugene, rolling his eyes. "I can still take you on, woman."

"I doubt that," replied Cassandra, masking a smile.

As they spoke, Cornelius broke the wax seal, frowning at the lack of a sigil. The letter had been sealed in a hurry, he realized, and as he unrolled it, he frowned at the unfamiliar writing. Nick's script was neat and flowing, but whoever had written this had a rather untidy scrawl, and wasn't very good at using blotting sand, given the number of ink drops on the page.

 _Morgan_ , he realized, after a second, and then the words sank in. _No…_ He'd just seen Nick a few days ago, and there'd been no worry in his cousin's eyes. They'd written to each other just yesterday, and everything had been fine.

"Dad," he said. His voice trembled, and the letter almost slipped from his grasp. "Arendelle has been besieged."

* * *

From where she stood atop the foothills of the Sunset Mountains, Gothel could see all of Corona. The blue waters of the sea churned beneath the hulls of the royal fleet, and half-a-hundred sunbursts gleamed upon their flags. The prince himself had set sail for Arendelle, along with his wife, and he had taken the entirety of his kingdom's naval forces with him. It was a beautiful sight indeed. They had always been a sentimental pack of fools, she reasoned, her lips curling into a smile.

Very well, if Prince Cornelius wished to rush off to his cousin's aid with no thought for his own kingdom, then let him. Some might call it a stroke of luck that both Hans and Tremaine had struck with such opportune timing, but Gothel knew better. All was going according to plan.

Soldiers marched upon the land, and her beloved son-in-law rode at the head, resplendent in his gilded armor. He was a flashy bastard, but her child did love him, and her only regret was that he would not be there when she made her move. The look on her daughter's face as she ripped out his heart… oh, she could see it now, and the thought brought a thrill of delight to her heart.

The armies of Corona were headed for the Eléadoréan border, and the fleet was headed to Arendelle. A dangerous gambit, but what other choice had they been left with? Gothel smiled. None. None at all.

The day passed her by, and soon enough, the soldiers were tiny ants in the distance, and the ships were specks upon the horizon. The sun hung low in the sky, and she gathered her skirts around her as she began her descent. She walked slowly, savouring each step. Raising her hands as she walked, she drew on her magic, imbued and enhanced by her new master's power, and let tendrils of moss-green light weave their way around her.

The birds grew silent first, and then the leaves began to fall. Green faded to brown as they wilted, and the bare branches roses like claws, scratching at the sky. The flowers shrivelled, and the wrinkles on her face began to fade. Her skin grew smooth and her hair grew soft and black, and she smiled, beginning to hum.

" _Mother knows best, listen to your mother, it's a scary world out there…"_ The words echoed in her mind as her youth returned to her, and the ache faded from her bones. Long ago, her beloved daughter had brought new light to the kingdom of Corona, but now it was time for her to take it back. Raising her hands higher still, she focused upon the sun itself.

Stormclouds gathered as she approached the castle, blanketing the sun and hiding it from view, and the wind whipped into a swirling frenzy. With a flick of her wrist, the gates burst off their hinges, and the guards rushed at her. She smiled, and they crumpled, aging a hundred years in a matter of seconds, and their years filled her, stirring her heart. The kiss of youth was blissful, and now, she would be forever young and beautiful.

A queen… she would be a queen.

As she marched through the city, it began to rain. Thick sheets of water hammered the earth, and the wind grew harsher still, tearing shingles from the buildings. People fled, rushing for what cover they could find, but it was too late for them. Their army was gone, their swords fighting distant wars, and by the time King Eugene and Prince Cornelius realized the danger and turned back, it would be too late.

" _Mother knows best,"_ she sang as she approached the castle gates. She raised an eyebrow, and rust formed upon the metal. It thickened, spreading in seconds, and with a single touch, it crumbled to dust. All things lived, even that which did not draw breath, and with her master's power flowing through her veins, she was stronger now than she'd ever been.

She no longer needed a pitiful flower to maintain herself. Now, all she needed was her own might.

"You will go no further, Gothel."

She smiled, looking up. Her daughter stood upon the balcony with another blonde at her side, drained of colour yet standing tall, and she held a crossbow in her hands. An interesting choice of weapon, though to be honest, Gothel had always thought Rapunzel's frying pan had a certain charm to it. Raising her hands to emulate surrender, she laughed.

"Who will stop me?" she asked in delight. "You? That pathetic handmaiden you call a bodyguard?"

"I stopped you before, did I not?" replied Rapunzel, and with a twang, she fired the crossbow. The bolt ripped through the air, and Gothel blinked in surprise. She had expected more banter, to be honest. Dust rippled at her skin as what remained of the bolt made contact, and she chuckled as she took a step forward.

"Perhaps," replied Gothel, and with that, she released her spell. The castle quaked, and cobwebs burst into the corners as the stone grew old and cracked. Dust settled, and she rose into the air, landing on the balcony in time to see the handmaiden grow withered as an old crone.

Reaching out, Gothel touched her once, and the woman crumbled to dust, and then a frying pan took her in the back of the head. Stunned, she whirled to see Rapunzel bearing down on her, face contorted with fury, and she snapped her fingers. The frying pan rusted at once, aging until nothing remained but the handle, and then she lashed out, grabbing the queen by the throat.

"I could kill you now, and I would be glad for it," she said, squeezing just enough to let Rapunzel know she meant what she said. "But I won't. I think it's best I simply send you to your room."

Rapunzel responded by slamming her palms into Gothel's temples before kicking her in the shin. Grunting in pain and surprise, Gothel released her hold and doubled over, clutching at her head as it rang from the blow, and a knee caught her in the face, breaking her nose. She fell to the floor, and then Rapunzel was straddling her chest, pulling back her fist and aiming for her head.

"What a tantrum," said Gothel. "I think you'd do well to have no supper tonight."

Catching her daughter's fist, her eyes flared, and she let her magic swirl around the queen. Rapunzel aged, lines etching themselves into her face, and her strength faded. Easily, too easily, Gothel shoved her off and grasped her by the hair, dragging her behind her. She would not draw the life into her… no, she would not. Instead, she clutched it in her hand, and as she entered the highest room of the north tower, she tossed her daughter in and let the youth flow back where it had come.

Rapunzel gasped, clutching at herself as she returned to how she had been, but Gothel had already turned away. The tower was bare, just a disused room that had once been used to house a long-dead dowager, but it would do. She slammed the door behind her and turned the key, smiling as the metal crumbled in her hands.

"Let me out," her daughter screamed, slamming her hands upon the door. "You vile bitch."

"Oh, you'll never leave your tower again, child," said Gothel, her eyes dancing with mirth. Long ago, Rapunzel had made a deal with her, to follow her forever in exchange for saving Eugene's life, to never turn her back on her… and she had reneged on her end of the bargain.

Her hands gleamed, and she rested it upon the door. Drawing on her magic, she cast a spell, one that would ensure her daughter would remain where she was for the rest of her days.

" _Tower, tower, do your part, never release your prisoner with a sun-touched heart. Hold that as these words are spoken, this curse may never be broken."_

* * *

Arendelle burned.

The acrid smoke stung Yuë's eyes as she climbed to the castle ramparts, dressed in what armor she could find. It was ill-fitting, but it would get the job done, and there was no time for luxury in war. Her sai glimmered at her sides, and she sucked in a breath as she glanced out across the city.

The harbor was in ruins, and the city was on fire. The cannons had fallen silent as the rebels swarmed ashore, and Prince Nicholas' ice wall had not slowed them long. Still, the castle was too far inland for their ships to reach, but even as she looked on, the rebels were raising siege weapons. A battering ram, two siege towers, and a catapult had been brought ashore and were currently being put together, and it would only be a matter of time before the castle itself came under attack.

The guardsmen were at their stations, watching and waiting, readying themselves for the attack. It would not be long now, but the rebels were cautious, remaining just out of range of bows, and Narissa had erected some sort of milky, phlegm-coloured barrier to protect her son's forces from the ballistae and trebuchets.

"Lady Yuë, you should not be here." Prince Nicholas came to stand beside her, and despite the severity of the situation, she was taken aback by how distinguished he looked in his armor.

The steel was fitted to his body and stained an icy-blue, and the adornments were white gold. His cape was blue as well, though the shade was much darker, and it was trimmed in thick fur. A circlet rested on his bow, and his eyes were narrowed as he stared out across his city. In this moment, he looked every bit the prince he was and not the boy she'd grown to know.

"I have rested long enough," she replied. "My mother would be ashamed of my weakness in the face of such strife, and I cannot dishonour her memory by hiding amongst the women and children."

"Forgive my bluntness, but you said yourself that you are not a fighter, not like the rest of your siblings," he replied. "War is a bloody business, and it is more dangerous for a woman than a man, especially when the bloodlust is upon a soldier. I may have not seen many battles, but I know that much. Do you have any idea what happens when a city is sacked?"

"I do," she replied, refusing to balk. Her mother had told her of the war crimes that were committed during sieges, not to frighten her but to warn her, and she was no stranger to the risk she was putting herself in. "My parents were both soldiers, Prince Nicholas, and they saw to it that I could defend myself at all times. I will remain at the front lines, along with Sir Morgan, yourself, and Prince Consort Kristoff."

" _Sir_ Morgan?" asked Nicholas, raising an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his lips. "That will make him laugh."

"Your _retainer_ is an interesting fellow indeed," she replied, not knowing quite what to refer to the aforementioned fellow as. In the Imperium, such things were unheard off, and she was still coming to terms with nature of her host's proclivities. It was rather odd, especially for a prince, but the rumours she had heard upon arriving in Arendelle had been confirmed by her own eyes when Damon De Vil had infiltrated the castle, and she had found Prince Nicholas abed with his _retainer,_ dressed in a manner which had left little doubt in her mind as to what was transpiring between them _._

Still, she had warmed to him, insensitive though he was. It was thanks to Morgan that she had survived the night, and the things that Damon had whispered into her ear as he'd _licked_ her cheek still sent shivers down her spine.

If this was to be her battlefield, then she would not lie. She would be honoured to fight at Morgan Thorn's side.

"Prince Nicholas," a voice called, and the prince took his leave, hurrying across the wall.

Yuë sighed and returned to her post, staring out across the burning city. She had lost one home already, and Prince Nicholas had extended his own to her, granting her shelter and security even though she'd had nothing to give in return. He had fed her and clothed her, and when she'd needed potions to help her sleep, he'd paid for them from his own pocket. It was no great surprise, and she was perhaps overselling things, but she could not step down now. Her own home had been lost to the flames of war, and she could not stand back and let the same fate befall Arendelle.

This was the worst part, the soldiers often said when they returned from their deployments. She had listened to them all as they dined in the mess hall, wishing to one day join them in their travels, but each and every one had confirmed that the worst part of a battle was the waiting. Now, she found that they'd been telling the truth.

She knew that it was coming, but each second that passed by unnerved her even more. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she glanced around, trying to find a familiar face. Across the courtyard, she caught sight of Morgan fletching arrows beside a bench, dressed in black armor adorned with wings upon the pauldrons and a horned helm at his side. On the other end of the courtyard, speaking to the guardsmen stood Prince Consort Kristoff, his monstrously large battle-axe strapped to his back. It was still and quiet, and each and every one of her breaths sounded like thunder to her ears.

Time seemed to pass in slow motion, and the smoke grew thick as it floated into the sky, blackening the snowflakes as they fell. She took another deep breath, glancing around her at the other guardsmen, all clad in armor and standing behind the crenels, bows and spears at their sides, quivers at their waists, swords and halberds strapped to their backs.

A horn sounded, splitting the air. Yuë whipped around, reaching for her sais, and the rebels charged, holding shields above their heads. With a heavy creaking, the battering ram began to roll towards the gates, and beside her, a guard flung a torch into a pot of oil, letting it ignite before upending it over the walls.

"If this is war, so be it," she said to herself, and she braced herself for battle.

* * *

"Fall back to the ships," yelled Ariel. "The battle is lost. Retreat."

She struck her trident into the ground, and the earth itself shuddered as the prongs gleamed. A deep crack split the land, spreading from her trident to a hundred leagues in either direction, and she gritted her teeth. The crack spread, growing wide as a chasm, and a hundred Hollow Ones plummeted in as the sea came rushing in to fill the newly formed ravine. Raising her trident above her head, she screamed a battlecry, and swept it out before her, letting a crackling beam of light split the hordes across the chasm to shreds.

She narrowed her eyes as new monstrosities rose to replace those she had dispatched, and she glared. Their numbers were limitless, and no matter how many she felled, another thousand rose to take their place. Earlier, _something_ had happened, and the stars had shed their fires upon the mainland, obliterating a large chunk of the enemy forces.

And yet, even divine intervention was not enough to thin their ranks. The Hollow Ones were an endless army, and she was beginning to realize why. When first she'd arrived, they'd been dead and rotting, maggots dripping from their forms as they charged. Now though, the corpses that had been used to create them were fresh, the blood still red and crusted, the decomposition not yet set in.

They were the people of the Imperium, reanimated by whatever fell force controlled the Hollow Ones. The thought sickened her, and she slashed her trident again, clearing the space in front of her for a league. These monsters were mortal, and they could be put down, and she would take great joy in letting the many bodies that formed each Hollow One be given their rest.

Worse were the Nightmares and Fearlings who accompanied the beasts, but they were few and far between. With her trident, she could dispatch them with ease, but she was one woman, and all other methods failed, even Queen Elsa's ice. Still, they were increasing in number, and the cold reality had grown clear. The Imperium had gone the same way as Old Oloria, and there was nothing left for them in this land that even Tsar Luna had forsaken.

"Your majesty, the men have reached the ships," said Delphin, one of the mermen who had accompanied her from Atlantica. He was bloody and bruised, and his scales were mottled and peeling upon his legs.

"Queen Elsa?"

"Like you, she holds the way whilst her men retreat." Delphin gestured to the distant bluffs, and Ariel sucked in a breath.

A blizzard raged atop the bluffs, and she had never seen such frost and ice. Icicles the size of carriages rained from the sky, and flashes of pale-blue light flared through the gathering twilight. The trees were shrivelled and withered, locked in Queen Elsa's frigid defense of the pass, and below her, a steady stream of soldiers wearing the uniforms of Arendelle limped to the longboats.

Time. That was all they needed. Just an hour, at the very least. _We should have brought Belle._ The thought filled her with hysteria. Word of Amoré's fall had reached her that morning, but she could not allow herself to grieve her friend, or mourn the loss of the Chronorose. She wasn't quite sure what was worse: Was it that a dear friend had lost her life, or was it that a powerful weapon had been destroyed, one they dearly needed?

Whatever the case, she could not waste time worrying about what had already been decided. She needed to focus on the here and now.

"Go," she said, nodding at the merman. "All vessels that are already filled are to set sail immediately. This war has cost us enough lives as it is."

Delphin nodded, raising a fist to his heart before taking off. He leapt into the sea, his scaled legs rippling as they became a tail, and he swam faster than she would have believed possible as he headed for the ships. Turning back to the Hollow Ones, Ariel raised her trident and cleared them again.

This time, though, her beam of energy got about halfway through the horde before it flickered and died. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself as the Viper of Agrabah himself, Jafar, strode to the front. His serpent headed cane tapped the ground as she walked, and he smirked, tipping his flouncy hat at her as he came to a halt. The scars on his cheeks were new, and they looked almost like a grin that spread from ear-to-ear.

"Your Majesty," he mocked, inclining his head. "You must forgive my rudeness. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have prepared a warmer welcome. Is it true that mermaids cannot abide fire?"

"Jafar," she replied, clutching her trident before her. "I would reply, but I fear that you are all to familiar with the flames of hell."

He chuckled before striking, and she raised her trident just in time to deflect his curse. Clearing her chasm in a single bound, the eyes of his serpent-headed staff glowed like hot coals as he swung it at her head. Ducking low, she swung the pole of her trident, slamming it into his chest and sending him reeling. For a moment, he tottered at the edge of the canyon, windmilling his arms, and then he recovered, dodging her blast and replying with one of his own.

"It was foolish of you to face me, Jafar," she said, deflecting his curses without batting an eye. "I am the Queen of Atlantica, of the blood of Olympus, and the ocean itself heeds my command."

He growled, and a trio of fireballs burst from his staff. She snorted as she blasted them to smoke, and she raised a hand into the air. Behind her, the sea rose, the water coming to her in four slender streams. It spun around her like the rings of a planet, and she jabbed out her trident.

The streams spiralled, forming a watery lance, and Jafar raised his staff. A reddish barrier appeared before him, and water sprayed in all directions. Cracks appeared upon the barrier and she maintained her assault, slowly but steadily backing to the edge of the chasm until his feet were at the very edge.

"Foolish woman," he said. "It's already over."

He lashed out, and a beam of red light cut through her water. It slammed into her chest and she went sprawling, landing in the ocean with a sharp cry. The sea enveloped her, soothing and invigorating, and she was on her feet in an instant. Her legs fused, becoming a tail, and she rose upon a swirling vortex of seawater, raising her trident into the sky.

"I say when it ends," she cried, and the blast she fired his way left a smoking crater in its wake.

He ducked aside, eyes glimmering with mirth, and he grasped _something_ out of thin air. It materialized before her gaze, crackling and forged from aurum gold, just as her trident had been, and he flung it with all his strength. _Lord Zeus's bolt,_ she thought, and then it took her in the chest.

Thunder crackled as it ripped through her, scorching her skin and boiling her blood as it burst out her back. Beneath her, the vortex gave way, and she crashed into the sea, blood pouring from the fist-sized hole between her breasts, and her skin peeled off in sheets. The water swirled around her, and her eyes flickered. Through her hazy vision, she could see her hair dissolving into red algae, and her body was fading to seafoam.

The sea had given her life, and now she was giving it back.

The fingers grew limp and heavy, but she grasped her trident nonetheless. With the last of her power, she called to the waves that had been her home for so very long, to the currents that linked the entire world, and she released her grasp upon her weapon, watching as it zoomed away, carried by the sea.

 _Caspian… I have always been proud of you, my son… And Melody… it will be so lovely to see you again… so lovely._

"Aquaria," she whispered, willing the waves to carry her words as well her trident, even if she knew they would not. "I leave the rest to you."


	28. The Frozen Heart of Arendelle: Part 3

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

 **The Frozen Heart of Arendelle**

 **Part Three: To Die on a Battlefield**

* * *

The siege tower lay in smoking fragments and, atop the battlements, the wretched dragon whelp glared down at him, flames licking at his lips. Prince Hans returned the glare with one of his own as he fell back to escape the fireballs aimed his way, and he gritted his teeth. The defenders of Arendelle were putting up a greater fight that he had expected, and his scouts reported that a fleet was enroute from Corona.

If he did not act quickly, they would be caught between two armies. The walls of Arendelle would be the anvil, and Prince Cornelius' army would be the hammer, and he'd be trapped between. Curse that dragon, and curse Prince Nicholas as well. The boy was tenacious, and though his frost was sparing, he somehow knew exactly where to strike to put a spanner in the works. Already, both catapults had been destroyed, wrecked by icicles, and both the siege tower and the battering ram had been ravaged by dragonfire. Still, his siege machines had not been in vain. The western guard tower lay in ruins, and the soldiers of Arendelle had dwindled under his first few attacks. It would take longer than expected, but he needed to make haste before the Coronans arrived.

"You seem troubled, my son," said Queen Narissa, coming to stand beside him. A proud and handsome woman, the years had weighed upon his mother, and it was visible in her lined face and slate-grey hair. "Have no fear. They are flagging in their defense. Vengeance will be ours."

"Father will be proud," said Prince Hans, nodding in agreement. "And may this grant my brothers solace in their cold graves."

"Indeed," replied his mother. "You have a visitor."

A visitor? Prince Hans turned, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the crowned woman striding through the burning streets of Arendelle. Tall and regal, she wore the crown of Renvale upon her brow, and her eyes were wild with delight. Monogrammed upon her surcoat was a single red apple, dripping with blood, and she nodded.

"Prince Hans. You require my assistance?"

"Queen Regina," he replied. "I see that the Renvale campaign has been successful."

"Very much so. The Charming brat lives, and I'm told his mother has escaped my fortress with the aid of Maleficent, but neither of them pose me much of a threat. My illusions run deep, and all of Renvale consider me their rightful queen. You, on the other hand, seem to have made a royal mess of things."

"Have a care for how you speak, witch," said Queen Narissa, pursing her lips. "I may be old, but I will not tolerate such disrespect towards my family from the likes of you."

"As sharp-tongued as ever, Narissa," replied Regina. "Tell me, how is Giselle? Your only daughter, and she was the one who turned against you. My own children knew loyalty, disappointing as they were in all other aspects."

"Ladies," interrupted Hans, breaking up the catfight before it could begin. There were bigger fish to fry. In the distance, he could see the sky grow dark and stormy. A blizzard was approaching, likely natural in origin given Prince Nicholas' weakness, but he did not like the look of it one bit. Weather was as deadly to an invasion as was the enemy, and he did not want to have to battle both Arendelle and the elements.

"You mentioned your assistance, Regina," he continued. "I would be most grateful for whatever aid you can lend me." It killed him to admit it, but pride had done him in before, and this time, he'd play his cards right.

"Wise," she said. She waved a hand, and blackened glass flowed around her. Rising from the pools of molten liquid, her Mirror Men were sleek and fragile, but lethal. They formed up around her, two-hundred in all, and they made no sound nor movement as she snapped her fingers, dismissing the spell that had summoned them. "My mother's spell. When she was young, she brought Queen Snow's own kingdom of Enchanté to ruin, and I do quite like my Mirror Men."

"Your aid is very welcome," he replied, glancing at the fresh troops that the Evil Queen had summoned. Mirror Men, he knew, were golems of glass, unthinking and unfeeling, and when they were shattered, they reformed from their shards. Yes… this was just what he needed to win the war, and to take Arendelle by morning.

"Then I will take my leave of you. Somnia stirs upon the Renvalian border, and the Rêveres are not a force to be trifled with." With that, Regina raised a pendant out before her, and tapped the tiny mirror upon it. Her body dissolved as though it was smoke and she travelled through it, and Hans took a moment to gather herself once she was gone.

"A generous gift," said Queen Narissa, reaching out to study one of the Mirror Men. Running her hand down the sleek body, her fingers flickered as she tested the magic binding them, and she frowned. "A very generous gift. I would advise caution. Regina is not one to do such things out of the goodness of her heart."

"What she wants in return is inconsequential, Mother," he replied. "Soon, Arendelle will be mine, and she can have whatever she wants."

His mother nodded, recognising the dismissal, and she strode off to join the rest of his army. It was for the best really. She was powerful, but overly cautious, and it was past time they ended this. If luck was on his side, Tremaine would have struck by now, and Corona would be forced to turn its fleet around as well. He pursed his lips. He could not rely on that happening. The armies of Corona were amongst the largest in the world, and it was well within their power to fight a war on two fronts.

Raising a hand, he gestured to the Mirror Men. With a flick of his wrist, he directed onwards, and they moved fluidly, their limbs flowing as though they were flesh and blood rather than glass. A leer spread across his lips, and he drew his sword.

"Onward," he yelled. "Onward, for tonight we dine on the blood of Arendelle."

* * *

"Prince Cornelius, we should reach Arendelle by morning."

Cornelius nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His cousin had called for aid, and he had answered without reservation, but being on a ship again weighed on him more than he dared let on in front of his soldiers. For the first time in his life, he'd been trusted to lead his kingdom's men into battle, and it was evident that despite the fondness his subjects had for him, they still viewed him as young and untested.

He couldn't afford to look weak, not now, not in front of the men who would one day look to him as their king. It took every bit of self-control to maintain his facade of calm, but he was finding it hard to breath. Standing at the prow of his mother's flagship, he gripped the rails until his knuckles turned white, ignoring the salt spray against his face. The ocean stretched out in all directions, cold and grey, and all he could feel was the water rushing in.

It would be worse if he went below, much worse, because at least out here, he couldn't feel the walls come closing in and see the water rising above his head. It was stupid, so stupid, because he hadn't even realized how bad it had been until a month ago at most, but if anything, knowing had turned what he'd once seen as a freak accident into a phobia he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.

He hated it.

He swallowed, closing his eyes as the ship lurched over a rough wave, and all of a sudden he was drowning in air. Grasping at his collar, he leaned forward, gasping for breath and praying that nobody was watching.

A soft hand reached out to touch his, and he shuddered. His heart raced, and light glimmered at his fingertips.

"Cornelius," his wife whispered. "Breathe."

The ship lurched again, and the wind picked up around him. Gasping, he clutched the rails, but he was breathing again, somehow, and even as panic gripped him, he wasn't drowning anymore. The sea twisted and roiled, growing unsettled, and at Alyssa's urging, he stepped away from the prow and allowed her to wrap him in her arms.

"Breathe. I'm here. You're not underwater." Her voice was soft yet firm, and as she ran a hand down his back, he nodded. _He wasn't drowning. He was fine. He was alive and breathing._

"Thanks, 'Lyssa," he said, extricating himself from her embrace. "That was humiliating."

"I think it's rather brave," she replied. "You aren't letting your fear stand in the way of helping a friend." Reaching out to cup his cheek, she nodded. "You came for me when I needed you, and now we're off to rescue Nick, and you're leading that charge as well."

"Well, I can't very well let him deal with a siege on his own, can I?" asked Cornelius, coming back to himself, just a little, as she changed the topic.

Alyssa opened her mouth to reply, but all that came out of her mouth was a yelp of alarm as the ship lurched again, throwing her forward. She grabbed at him for support, but his balance had been lost as well, and the two of them landed in a heap on the deck. A barrel came rolling towards them, and he could only stare, and the ship was breaking up around him, and he was sinking, with water rushing it over his head as he pounded on the glass.

His wife yanked him aside, and he gasped as the barrel missed them by hair's breadth and went hurtling over the railing. The ship was bucking and the sea was wild, and he was terrified, barely able to react as she helped him to his feet and laid a steadying arm around his waist.

"Cornelius, breathe," she said again, and he tried to. He really, really tried to, but he was drowning, and the ship was—a sharp smack brought him back to reality, and he stared around, eyes wide, shaking himself as his cheek stung.

"Thanks," he managed.

"Prince Cornelius!" The captain of the ship, Liam, was heading towards him, glancing around with wary eyes. The deck was alive with sailors, tying down the sails and buckling down the equipment, and a sailor strained at the wheel, his face red as he forced all his strength into steering the ship over the troubled patch of sea.

"What is it, Admiral Liam?" asked Alyssa, and Cornelius was more grateful to his wife for speaking when he didn't trust himself to than he was right now.

"The sea grows wild and restless," replied Liam, frowning. "The sky is clear, so it isn't a storm, and the wind isn't all that bad, and I've never seen anything like it. It's as though the ocean has a mind of its own."

"We need to make port," he said, pinching himself to keep his voice steady.

"I've already ordered the men to begin rowing. We should reach Arendelle by midnight if we press ourselves, and I believe that would be for the best. Whatever's doing this, Prince Cornelius, it only seems to be intensifying, and we had best be clear of the open water before it gets really bad."

Cornelius nodded, dismissing the captain with a wave of his hand. Leaning on Alyssa, he looked around, the colour draining from his face as he took in the raging sea. The waves were lashing his fleet, and they'd all be drenched in salt water soon. But, the sky was clear, and nothing made sense… it was as though the sea had gone mad, as though nobody was there to keep it in check.

A jolt ran through the ship and he stumbled, biting his lip to keep from yelping. The sea was rising. The ship was giving way. They were going to drown. They'd never reach Arendelle.

"Breathe, Cornelius. We'll be fine. Breathe."

* * *

Morgan leapt down from the battlements, extending his wings to break his fall as he brought his sword down in a savage, two-handed swing. The Mirror Man shattered, black shards flying in all directions, and he had never been so grateful for his armor. The shrapnel harmlessly glanced off his black plate, and from the corner of his eye, he caught motion.

He dropped to a crouch just in time to avoid the axe aimed at his head, swinging out his sword and catching the man in the pelvis and slicing through his chainmail like it wasn't even there, spilling his intestines like snakes. Blood splattered his face, and he rolled aside as the body crumpled. Getting to his feet, he looked around, seeking out his next target.

War was hell, and his heart was pounding in his ears, yet he couldn't stop to let himself breath. He had to keep fighting, because if he laid down his sword for even a moment, the castle would be short a defender at a time when it nearly needed every sword it could find. A year ago, if someone had told him he'd be fighting on the side of Arendelle, putting his own life on the line to defend the castle, then he'd have laughed and assumed they'd been drinking. But, times had changed, and Arendelle was more than a castle and a kingdom to him.

It was home, and he wasn't about to let his home, and Nick's home, be destroyed.

All around him, the guardsmen of Arendelle were locked in combat with both men and glass monsters. The walls had been breached, and they were fighting in the courtyard itself, hoping to end the threat here rather than be forced back into the castle itself. Against the far wall, Prince Kristoff swung his axe, shattering the legs under one before ramming the haft into a soldier's helm so hard that it dented the metal. Nick was still on the battlements, duelling a pirate, and by the look of things, his boyfriend was entirely in control of the fight. Yuë was fighting as well, and she was surprisingly capable with her sai in hand.

The Mirror Men were the real threat, he realized, and they'd been from the moment the glass golem had jumped onto the battlements. They felt no pain and, worse, they reformed. Already, the one he'd dispatched off was reforming, the shards trembling across the ground as they sought each other out.

Well, he couldn't have that, now could he?

Drawing back his head, he exhaled a plume of his flames. With a sharp screech, the shards dissolved to mist. There was very little that could withstand dragonfire, and Ravenna Queen may have been a potent sorceress when she'd first created the Mirror Men, but she had obviously not thought to safeguard her creations against a dragon's ire.

"Morgan, down."

Without thinking, Morgan ducked, and his boyfriend took a running leap. Using his shoulder as a springboard, Nick launched himself into the air, his ice blade gleaming as he slashed out. The Mirror Man shattered, and the black shards rained down on Morgan. Ducking his face behind his vambrace, he got to his feet as Nick landed lightly on the ground, and the pair of them stood back-to-back in the castle courtyard, their swords outstretched in front of them.

"Thanks for that," he said, lashing out as a pirate approached him. Catching the man's cutlass with the blade of his sword, Malevolence sheared through the rusted metal as if was paper, and then the man's head was sent rolling.

"Anytime," yelled Nick, ducking low and stabbing his saber through a Mirror Man's chest. The golem shattered, and then Morgan was there, breathing his flames. As the shards dissolved, a horn sounded through the air, and he _felt_ the air ripple.

Turning, he rammed himself into Nick, knocking them both to the ground just in time. With a crack like thunder, a portion of the wall burst apart, rubble flying in all directions. Dust filled his lungs, and he coughed, dimly aware of his boyfriend under him as the stones slammed into his back. Mercifully, he'd drawn in his wings and his armor was absorbing the worst of the damage, but he'd be bruised come morning.

 _Not like my back could get any uglier,_ he thought, glancing at the damage. Queen Narissa strode through the breach, her arms outstretched, her magic flickering, and Mirror Men flanked her on both sides. Instantly, he realized that the courtyard was lost. There was no defensive ground for them here, and they needed to get into the castle.

Yet, what would stop that witch from getting in the same way she'd just gained access to the courtyard? She was rather powerful, nowhere near his mother's level, but strong enough to do a lot more than what she'd shown so far. The castle was all they had left, their last shot at stopping this attack, and had his boyfriend been at his full strength, then Morgan was certain the invading army would have already been reduced to ice statues.

Yet, Nick's staff was gone, and without it, his boyfriend was insistent that his magic wouldn't work right. Morgan had to agree. Simply keeping the bolts off him when they'd fought the fleet had exhausted his boyfriend, and he didn't think Nick would be able to muster up another ice wall anytime soon.

So, what would stop the witch?

"Keep them off me, yeah?" he said, shrugging of the rubble and helping Nick to his feet. "I'll handle Narissa."

"Morgan," said Nick, the warning tone clear in his voice. Before he could continue, however, the Mirror Men were charging, and there was no more time to chat. Idly, he wondered if Prince Kristoff and Lady Yuë had taken cover when the wall had been breached, but then the thought was gone, just like all the others as he dug his sword into the ground and focused his mind.

" _Hello, Queen Narissa. It has been a long time."_ Projecting his thoughts into her mind, he established a link, and slowly, careful not to let her feel it, he spread out his magic like a thousand tiny tendrils. It snaked around the link, slowly enforcing it, and at the very back of his mind, he was vaguely aware of Nick standing in front of him, keeping the attacking pirates and Mirror Men off him.

" _Morgan Thorn,"_ Queen Narissa replied, and she sounded amused. " _You were a squalling whelp the last time I visited your mother. Come boy, what game are you playing? You can't hope to defeat me in a battle of minds."_

Almost experimentally, she pushed back, and he was nearly knocked off his feet. Gritting his teeth, he forced his mental shields into position, and it was difficult, like he was being yanked in two directions at once. She prodded again, and fine cracks appeared across all his shields, and he flinched, tasting blood.

" _I don't need to beat you,"_ he said, hiding his elation as the tendrils of magic slipped into her mind, slowly easing their way in. She was overconfident and unshielded, and he was already in. Slowly, delicately, he began to wrap his tendrils around her capillaries, and he bit his lip at the strain.

His head was throbbing, and he swayed on his feet. Something wet ran out of his ear, probably blood, and his eyes watered. Swallowing and gritting his teeth, he drew deeper, calling to whatever dregs of magic remained in him, and the barest hint of a smirk curled around his lips.

" _I just need to kill you._ "

His eyes flared as the tendrils tightened like a thousand nooses, and she slumped, her eyes glassy and unseeing before she hit the ground. Morgan gasped as the link broke, and his mind came back to him. The world around him was foggy, and the Mirror Men were pushing in, closer and closer, and someone… Prince Hans… was screaming in rage. Numbly, he clasped his sword and tried to swing it, but the movement almost sent him careening to the ground, and then, something punched him in the gut.

Morgan snapped back to reality so quickly it was as though someone had just poured ice water down his back, and he released his grasp on his sword, letting it flicker away in a puff of green smoke. He reached out in disbelief, his gauntlet-clad hands closing upon the shaft of a crossbow bolt. It had punched through his cuirass and sunk halfway into his gut, just a few inches above his navel. _Arbalest…_

"Morgan?" Nick was there, looking at him, eyes widening. "Morgan!"

"Fall back," someone cried, and it sounded like Prince Kristoff, but it could have been anyone, because the voice was faint and flickering. "Fall back to the castle."

His knees gave out and he slumped forward, but his boyfriend grabbed him, holding him upright as he stared, still not comprehending the quarrel in his stomach. It hurt, but everything was fading and spinning, and there was blood running down the inside of his armor, soaking his jerkin.

"Morgan, stay with me."

Numbly, he nodded, and he was aware of himself being half-carried, half-dragged across the courtyard, and there was a girl running up to them with sais in hand, covering Nick as he pulled them both inside.

"There are too many of them, fall back."

"Prince Nicholas? Oh, Tsar Luna, hurry, get him inside and lay him down."

"Morgan. Morgan, stay with me, you here?"

They were inside, and people were running. He was dizzy, so dizzy, and so, so tired, and he just wanted to go to bed. His head hurt and his body felt like lead, and somebody was unbuckling his breastplate. Nick wasn't holding him up anymore. There was something hard under his back, though, so he supposed he'd been laid down, and then someone was wiping at his face with a damp cloth. People were yelling and groaning, and Nick's face swam above his eyes.

"Morgan? Stay with me. Please, stay with me."

* * *

The frozen staircase was just as Anna remembered it, but she had no time to pause and admire its beauty. The Hollow Ones were right on her tail, and her girls were still bawling, their voices rising high enough to make her fear an avalanche. Sven's hooves clicked against the stairs as he made his way up, and as they reached the ledge, she drew on his reins.

He skidded to a halt and she dismounted, hurriedly pressing Morrigan into Bryn's arms.

"Take your sister and go inside," she said, her voice cracking. When her daughter made to argue, she cut her off with a glare. "Now, Brynhildr."

Mercifully, for once in her life, Bryn listened. Gathering Morrigan in her arms, the young girl all but fled into the winter palace, and Anna breathed a weary sigh. Long ago, Elsa had built this castle in her sorrow, and it had been in these halls that Anna had been hit with the curse of a frozen heart. There were memories in the frigid walls, old and haunting, but it had always been a peaceful place, and over the years, it had become a getaway to the royal family.

Nick had been making plans to visit with Morgan, she remembered with a pang, and then the Hollow Ones' roars brought her back to herself. Drawing her sword, she spun around and raised the blade into the air before bringing it down with all her strength, hacking at the frozen staircase. Shards of ice glimmered as they broke away, but Elsa had built these stairs to endure the test of time, and the going was slow.

The first Hollow One reached the foot of the stares and shot her a baleful glare. Slowly, almost cautiously, it placed a foot upon the first step, testing it. Then, its mangled lips curled into a leer, and it charged. The staircase creaked beneath the weight as another followed, and then another, and Anna hacked away, biting her lip as they grew closer and closer.

She wouldn't make it, she realized, panic rising as she finally cut her way through the left balustrade and started work on the stairs themselves. The ice was too thick and reinforced, and her blows were barely scraping the surface. The staircase heaved, and she looked up, realized the Hollow Ones were almost halfway up.

 _No. I can't fight them all. The girls._ Drawing deep, she slammed her sword into the ice, fury blazing in her eyes as chips of frost flew around her. She couldn't not destroy the stairs. She needed to defend her girls. Maybe she couldn't destroy the staircase on her own, but if she could destroy the supports, weaken it enough that it collapsed under the Hollow One's weight…

"Stone of the mountain, heed my call, like the water of a fountain, I urge you to fall."

Her daughter's voice cut the air, and a large rock came tumbling down the mountainside, missing the bridge by a hair's breadth. Then, with a thunderous boom, more stones came hurtling through the air, and the rock face itself seemed to loosen, sliding down and falling. The Hollow Ones roared as the avalanche took them, and the staircase cracked beneath its rage. Then, Anna shrieked, raising her sword.

The closest Hollow One had been very near the top of the staircase, and it'd leapt forward. Its cleaver was aimed at her head, and it was gaining quickly. Time seemed to slow, and there was a loud snort, and something rushed past her in a flurry of snow and panting breaths.

"Sven!" Anna cried out in alarm as the old reindeer jumped, impaling the Hollow One with his antlers. Black blood and maggots spilled from the wound, and then monster and reindeer had both disappeared, plummeting to the depths of the mountain chasm.

Gasping for breath and clutching at her chest, Anna sank to her knees. Tears glimmered in her eyes, and she leaned upon her sword for balance. It was over. It was finally over. With the staircase gone, there was no reaching the winter palace, and the Hollow Ones had been swept away by her daughter's spell. And Sven… oh, that bloody brave reindeer who'd been her friend since she was a girl of eighteen. Kristoff would be beside himself when he found out… _Oh Sven…_

Slowly, she drew herself to her feet, and she turned. Bryn stood in the palace doorway, cheeks streaked with tears, and in one hand she held a wailing Morrigan. The other was outstretched, still glowing with her magic, and Anna walked over, feeling numb as she grasped her daughters in her hands.

It was over. They were safe. She held them as though her life depended on it, clutching them both as tightly as she could, and she was almost hysterical in the way she sobbed. She was sobbing and laughing, relief and sorrow battling within her, and she just didn't know what to feel anymore.

"Thank you," she whispered to her daughter. "That spell. I didn't know you'd grown that strong."

"That wasn't me," said Bryn, sounding perturbed. "I just brought down the first rock. The avalanche was something else."

"Yes, that would have been my doing," said another voice, and it was all Anna could do not to faint.

Still holding her daughters, she turned, her shoulders sagging in relief as she caught sight of her brother-in-law hovering in the air above her with an elfin youth dressed all in green at his side. Floating down to rest beside her, he pulled her into a hug, patting her on the back.

"There now, Anna," he said. "It's over now."

"Thank you… Jack. Peter. Thank you both." Her voice broke, and she was crying into his shoulder, the exertion of the past day slamming into her with the force of a hammer meeting an anvil. Her nerves were frayed, and she had seen so much death that she feared she was drowning in it… and her husband and nephew, still in the castle… Jack had to go there… He had to help them.

"Jack, the castle," she said, pulling away and meeting his gaze. "Prince Hans attacked. Nick's still there. You have to."

"We were actually on our way when I caught sight of the Hollow Ones. I'm sorry I couldn't save Sven, but by the time I realized, he'd already fallen."

"You saved my daughters," she said. "That… that is enough."

"I'll fashion him into a constellation," added Peter, patting her on the head. Reaching down, the Lord of Neverland ran a finger along Morrigan's cheek, and her wails turned to laughter as peace settled over her features. "I dare say I've never quite seen such a brave animal, not since Nana."

"Thank you," said Anna, wiping her eyes upon her sleeve. "But, we're fine now, and you _need to go._ "

Jack nodded, a spasm running across his face. Releasing her from his embrace, he rose to his feet and turned to glare at the moon. He looked almost as though he was in pain, but as she opened her mouth to enquire, he yelled.

"Put a bloody sock in it, Manny. Next to you and Pitch, I'm one of the oldest being in all creation, so don't piss me off. They're family and family comes first."

Peter chuckled. "I do like it whenever you use the Nightlight card," he said, patting Jack on the shoulder. "Go now. Tell Nick his Uncle Peter says hi."

Jack nodded and took off, disappearing into the clouds. Anna stared after him, not quite understanding what that last exchange had been about, or even what it meant, because it did clash with her established knowledge of how things worked. Still, turning to Peter, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he squatted beside Bryn, pinching her cheek and pulling a face.

Instantly, he daughter started to giggle, and Anna couldn't help but smile. Pan always did have a way with children, especially those who were upset.

"You're not going?"

"As it turns out, the woods below are still crawling with all sorts of nasties," he said, smiling. "Once Jack's cleared out the castle and we've gotten the three of you back, I'll clear it out and be on my way. For now, I think you could use a Guardian to keep the shadows at bay."

"Thanks, Peter."

* * *

The enemy came at Elsa from all directions, but like a glacier, she remained in place, implacable and unrelenting in her defense of the bluffs. The blizzard whirled around her, and below, her men made for the rowboats. The Imperium was lost, but the war was not, and their lives were worth more if they lived to fight another day than perish in this forsaken land.

Queen Elsa stood firm, frost swirling around her in all directions. Icicles the size of horses rained from the sky around her, and jagged frost spikes rose from the ground, impaling the Hollow Ones as they approached. Black blood froze before it hit the ground, and a million shards of ice whirled around her, ripping them all to shreds.

Glancing behind her, she saw that the last of the rowboats had taken off. Good, her remaining men had made it, and now there was nothing left for her but to follow. Tsar Luna above, she was weary, and she longed for home. The days were dark and the war would only grow, but it would be sweet to return to Arendelle and see her son again. They had never been apart for so long, for he usually followed her where she went, learning through observing how she dealt with foreign kingdoms and their rules.

Raising her arms, the bluff erupted in sheets of ice, cutting off the passes in all directions. Enforcing them, she turned to head for the shore. The Imperium was lost. It was time to go home.

* * *

Pitch hovered in the sky, surveying the broken shoreline on the Imperium. The sailors were slumped and lethargic, the ships their only solace, and he would allow them to leave. It would be best for the to return home and spread word of what had happened here, of how utterly they had been trounced by his armies.

A deep crevice spanned the shoreline, and the sea roiled. Queen Ariel's last remembrance. Jafar had done well, unlike certain others he could name, and he would be rewarded when the time came. But, that was a matter for another time, and it was now time for the final bow of the first act.

His corrupted dreamsand spun around his fingers, forming a single black arrow. The tip was barbed and noxious, and he smirked as he nocked it in thin air, having no need for a bow. Focusing upon the figure descending from the bluffs, his grin grew.

"I'll be sure to give Jack your regards," he said, and he fired.

His black arrow took Queen Elsa in the back.

* * *

Halfway to Arendelle, he froze, feeling a jolt run down his spine. His eyes widened and he spun in midair, whirling around to stare in the direction of the Imperium.

"Elsa…"

The blizzard that burst forth from him was unlike anything the world had ever seen, and he took off, picking up speed until he was little more than a blur flying through the night sky. The moon shone above him, and he ignored the tempestuous pulling in his gut, the warnings to not act rashly. No, no more following decrees and keeping his distance. No more.

 _Hold on just a little longer, Nick. Your mother needs me now._

* * *

"Pitch," she said, clawing her way back to her feet. "You will never win."

"Queen Elsa," he replied, reaching out to cup her cheek. His fingers were colder than ice, and a shiver ran down her spine as she tried to pull away. "I would say that this is the nature of war, but I would be lying. Your death, my dear, is strictly personal."

His corrupted dreamsand rippled over her skin, and she felt it spreading through her veins, chilling her with its venom. Blood ran down her back, and her frost died at her fingertips. Everything was fading, but she couldn't give in now, not whilst there was breath left in her body. She'd made a promise.

She'd sworn that she would return to her son.

"You think you've accomplished something here today, don't you?" she asked, her ice blade forming in her hand.

She pulled away from his grasp and swung, but then the blade was glimmering as it fell from her hand, and his dagger was buried between her breasts. She fell to her knees, a rivulet of blood running down her lips as she coughed, and he leaned over to press a finger to her brow. With a leer, he pushed, and she lost her balance, falling to the ground.

Then, she felt cold, very cold, and snow began to fall around her. Pitch smirked, grinning as he turned away to look up at something in the sky. A furious, anguished scream tore through the air.

"Oh look," he said, sounding pleased. "Company."

* * *

"Pitch Black! Pick a god and pray."

The frost blast Jack flung from Twinetender was enough to blanket the entire shoreline in a thick layer of ice and snow, and he darted through the air, his eyes narrowed with fury as he took in the sight of his old nemesis. Without hesitation, he unleashed the full extent of his magic, and the bluffs themselves cracked beneath the waves of cold.

"I would love to, but I think I've overstayed my welcome," Pitch called, and the shadows rose to shroud him. The King of Nightmares faded away, a smug grin on his face, and Jack trembled as he descended to the bluffs, all thoughts of the fight already fleeing his mind.

"Elsa," he said, kneeling beside her and pulling her into his lap. "Elsa, please no."

His hand moved across her wounds, covering them in a light sheen of frost to keep the blood in her body, and her eyes flickered open. She smiled a faint smile, and he ran a finger down her cheek.

* * *

"Jack," she whispered. "Promise me, Jack. Protect him. Protect our son."

"No," he said, his voice urgent. "You can protect him. Elsa. Elsa, you're not dying."

"I promised I'd come home… Tell him… Tell him I tried."

"You'll tell him yourself. Come along, love, hold on. I'll get you to Neverland, and Alice will patch you right up. Just, hold on, please. Don't die. Please, Elsa."

"I love you, Jack Frost,' she said, and she drew his face to hers. And, in the end, her world ended with a single kiss to the winter storm.

* * *

"Don't worry, Nick, we'll show 'em. We took old Hans down before," Olaf patted him on the knee, and just like that, the snowman's eyes widened. He seemed to start, opening his mouth to say something more, and then he _crumbled._

The carrot slipped off his face and the sticks fell to the ground, and Nick watched in alarm as the snowman became a pile of snow on the ground, slowly melting.

A jolt ran through his body, and he fell to his knees.

"Mum," he whispered, Morgan's hand slipping from his grasp. His heart grew cold, like ice, and he screamed, throwing back his head as frost burst from his fingers. He screamed, calling to the storm within him, and the blizzard answered.


	29. The Frozen Heart of Arendelle: Part 4

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

 **The Frozen Heart of Arendelle**

 **Part 4: Frostbite**

* * *

He felt cold. So very, very cold.

Rising to his feet, he cocked his head to the side, dimly aware of the frigid wind emanating from his palms. Frost danced around him, and he walked away from the makeshift beds, heading for the door. Someone with a very familiar voice was yelling, but for some reason, nobody was approaching him. It was cold. It was very cold.

The castle doors burst off their hinges as he approached, and the Mirror Men surged in. They stiffened as they moved, the glass tinged with blue as hoarfrost clustered around them, and they shattered. The fragments bit into his armor, dissolving to nothing, and he continued. There were pirates as well, and men clad in the armor of the Southern Isles. He froze them as well. Ice spiralled from his hands, and their skin grew blue and pale as the blood grew thick in their veins. He was aware of a thousand hearts beating in his ears, slowing as it grew colder. Then they shattered, and the men crumpled. Cold. It was cold. It was very, very cold.

Snow fell upon the burning city, smothering the hissing flames, and the ships in the bay were flung into the air as jagged icebergs rose from the sea, tearing through their hulls and lifting them to stand as wooden carcasses, testaments to the frozen wrath of Arendelle. And there, running from him, fleeing as fast as he could, was the man who had brought this pain to his homeland.

Nick moved faster than he ever had in his life, and it was as though the blizzard itself was moving him. One moment, he was standing glaring in the courtyard, and the next he was standing in front of Prince Hans. Tears freezing on his cheeks, he snapped his fingers, and the man fell to his knees as ice sprang up to trap his wrists and ankles.

"Hello, Prince Hans," he said, striding forward. Reaching out, he ran a hand down the man's face, and Prince Hans flinched as frost bit into his cheek. Skin turned black and stiff beneath his touch, and it broke off. Blood hissed as it dripped onto the ground, steaming as it cooled.

Hans opened his mouth to reply, but the cold was faster. It snaked out, wrapping around the man's tongue and freezing it. Frostbite dug into the organ and it snapped off, leaving Prince Hans to stare, his eyes wide and filled with fear as blood dripped down to freeze upon his chin.

It was cold. It was very cold.

"Do you feel that?" asked Nick. "That's your blood turning to ice. That's your heart slowing, filling with shards of frost. It must be agonising. I guarantee you, it hurts less than having your heart ripped out of your chest and held before your eyes. I should know. That's what it felt like when I realized my mother had died."

Hans' eyes widened, and Nick didn't care for the glimmer of victory beneath the fear. Reaching out, he fashioned two tiny icicles upon his thumbs, and he pressed them into Prince Hans' eye sockets. Blood burst out to stain his armor, and Hans wailed. It was a harsh, clacking sound, almost inhuman.

"Yes, scream, let it out, let it all go," Nick said. "It doesn't make it easier, does it? What people like you caused. Arendelle was happy. I was happy. Your war didn't need to happen. These people didn't need to die. Do you know what it's like to lose the ones you love, Prince Hans?"

"No. Of course you wouldn't. You've never known love, have you? Let me explain it. It's like you'll never be warm again. Like the cold is in your veins and it can't get out. Sort of what I'm making you feel right now. Shall I end it? I could if I wanted to. I don't. I want you to hurt like I hurt. I want each and every one of you to feel my pain."

Nick reached out, and he pressed his hand against the man's breastplate. It cracked beneath his touch, the frozen metal pulling pieces of skin away from Prince Hans' body as it was pulled away from him. Reaching down, Nick placed his fingers between Prince Hans' ribs, and he shoved.

The skin was brittle as it gave way, and then he held Hans' throbbing heart in the palm of his hand. It was cold. It was very cold. He squeezed, just a little, and it was like gripping a sack filled with slush. The blood was thick and half-frozen, and Prince Hans was dying, slowly but surely.

"Because of people like you, one of my best friends lost her home and her parents and her family. Because of people like you, another friend lost a child. And, because of you, my city is in ruins, my people were forced to flee, and my love is hanging onto life by a thread. Because of the war you support, my mother is _dead_. I want you to know, before you die, that you could have had a long life, far away from here, and I would never have done this to you, but your side forced my hand."

He yanked, and Hans slumped forward as Nick lifted the heart into the air. It was black and blue, covered in ice, and harder than a rock. Tossing it over his shoulder, he threw back his head and cried out, letting a wave of frost burst from him and envelop his city.

It was cold. It would always be cold.

The invading army froze where they hid, turning to ice statues in a matter of seconds, and with a flick of his wrist, they shattered. The last fires hissed out, and Nick fell to his knees, drawing the cold back to him. It came at his command, a swirling vortex of frost, and his frozen tears fell to the ground.

"Nick," a voice said, so familiar yet so twisted by grief. Yet, there was a twinge of horror beneath the anguish. For a moment, Nick wondered why, but his head was stuffed with cotton, and something wet was running from his nostrils.

Arms wrapped around him as he slumped forward, and he whimpered. It was cold. So very, very cold. Blood ran from his ears, his nose, his eyes, and his head lolled back against his father's shoulders. It hurt. His temples felt like they were being assailed by warhammers, but it didn't matter. It was just cold.

"Mum's gone, Dad," he said, his voice hollow. "She's dead."

His father held him, and a chill balm seemed to be flowing into his veins. Nick shuddered, all but convulsing as his body reacted to the amount of magic he'd just released. He was breaking. Gasping for breath, he tasted blood on his tongue, and his father pressed Twinetender against his chest, forcing his own magic, the magic of a Guardian, into his drained form.

"I know, son," said Jack Frost. "I know. But, please, I can't lose you too, Nick. Just stay still. Please."

* * *

When Cornelius arrived in the Bay of Arendelle, he wasn't quite sure how to react. The gutted skeletons of dozens of ships rose into the air, impaled by jagged spires of ice. The harbor itself was in ruins, and the city had definitely seen better days. Several buildings had collapsed, and there were signs of a great blaze, judging by the soot-stained walls. People walked amongst the rubble, clearing it or else setting about to repair the damage, and there were lights burning in the windows. Yet, of the invading army, there was no sign.

The voyage itself had been difficult, but the sea was calmer within the bay. It must be the ice, he thought, rubbing his stomach. He had been puking over the railing for the past few hours, with Alyssa holding onto his belt to keep him flying into the water, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn't think he'd ever get back onto a ship again. When he returned to Corona, Morgan or Nick would damn well fly him back, because he just couldn't deal with the sensation of being on a ship in the near future. Not that his fleet could turn back anytime soon, given how rough the waves had been. They'd lost three ships, and it had been a miracle that they hadn't lost anymore.

"Cornelius," said Alyssa, coming to stand by his side. "Something's wrong."

"Yes, that would be battle we seem to have missed," he said, gesturing at the ships. "I think Nick got a bit angry watching his city get thrashed."

"No," she said, biting her lip. "Those flags. They're black. Cornelius, Arendelle doesn't fly black flags, not unless they're in—"

"Mourning…" he finished for her, his heart sinking. _Who, though?_ Aunt Anna? Uncle Kristoff? He swallowed, a shiver running down his spine. Bryn? Morrigan? _Nick?_ No, no it couldn't be. As his ship made landfall, he clenched his fist and made for the gangplank, raising a hand to stop his soldiers from following. There was no danger. The enemy had been defeated, it would seem, but only grief remained.

As he stepped onto the shore, he felt Alyssa link her fingers with his. Like him, his wife had dressed in her armor, anticipating a battle, but they were too late. _If I was faster, if we'd made more haste, could we have saved whoever it was that lost their life?_ Glancing around, he saw a small detachment of Arendellian soldiers approaching him, and they wore black scarves and cloaks.

He could see it in their expressions. Death itself had come to Arendelle, and the blow had been a harsh one indeed.

"Prince Cornelius. Prin… Queen Alyssa," said the lead soldier, inclining his head. "We are grateful to you for the reinforcements you have provided, though we fear you have come too late. Prince Hans has already been dispatched off, and his forces have been cast aside."

"That is good to hear," said Cornelius, worrying at his lip. "Forgive me rudeness, but I do not know you."

"I am Captain Oswald, newly appointed head guard of the castle. It is an honour to formally meet you. King Nicholas regrets that he could not come himself, but he is currently holding his vigil within the castle chapel, as is customary by our traditions."

" _King_ Nicholas?" he asked, and he felt as though he had just been clubbed over his head. At his side, Alyssa gasped, and the gears whirred in his mind. _Oh no._ He had not expected this, not in the slightest. His cousin was no longer being called a prince, which could only mean one thing, and no… nothing could have preferred him for the knowledge that Queen Elsa, his aunt, the most powerful woman on the council, was dead.

Hoping he had misunderstood or misheard, he gazed at Captain Oswald, almost begging to be corrected, but the soldier's expression was grim.

"Forgive me, I was under the impression you knew. I am sorry for your loss, Prince Cornelius, and I aware you were quite close with your aunt. Queen Elsa lost her life upon the shores of the Imperium, as did Queen Ariel of Atlantica. May Tsar Luna preserve their souls and grant them peace."

 _Queen Ariel as well?_ That would explain the sea and their voyage. The waves mourned their queen, and they were wild in their grief, especially now that they did not have her to keep them in check. It would seem that he would have to remain in Arendelle longer than expected, which did not bode well for Corona—his father was fighting on their borders, and he needed to return with the troops he'd taken as soon as possible to reinforce him. _Aquaria, get your domain under control, and quickly._

Then, the captain's words sank in, and he was reeling again, his own problems forgotten. He'd not wanted to believe it, but to have it voiced… _Nick, I'm so sorry._ He needed to see his cousin, to lend him his support now more than ever.

"Take us to the castle," said Alyssa, her voice choked. "We wish to pay our respects. Our troops will assist in any way they can in the meantime."

The captain nodded, and the walk through Arendelle passed by in a blur. Cornelius looked around as he walked, trying to get his bearings, but for the life of him, he could not consolidate the city he saw to the city that had once been his second home. Arendelle had always been a quiet city, but it had been a beautiful one, and the people had been cheerful. Now, there were grim and despondent expressions all around him, and there was rubble in the streets. The fountains were cracked, and the air was colder than he remembered it being, almost as though the kingdom's mood was adding to the weather.

When he reached the castle itself, he gasped, and Alyssa had to lend him a steadying hand to keep him upright. A large portion of the wall had collapsed, and the courtyard was strewn with debris. The portcullis was twisted and laying to the side, and the gates lay in splinters. Arrows stuck into the snow, and there were scorch marks everywhere.

"Cornelius. Alyssa," said a familiar voice, and he looked up, shaken from his reverie.

"Morgan," he said, recoiling.

His draconic friend was leaning on a cane, looking paler than the snow around him, and there was a fresh scar running down his arm. Limping over, he nodded at Captain Oswald.

"I'll take it from here, Oswald. Prince Kristoff was looking for you earlier."

"By your leave, Sir Morgan," replied the soldier, and turned away. Gesturing for his men to follow, the captain of the guard walked into the castle, and Morgan looked up at them with a watery smile.

"It's good to see the two of you again," he said, looking pained. "If you don't mind, could we go inside quickly. The cold hurts my wound."

"Of course," said Alyssa, and they followed their friend into the castle.

The air inside was not as cold as it was outside, but there was still a distinct chill about the place. Grunting slightly, Morgan gestured for a bench in the corner and headed over to it, relief spreading over his face as soon as he sat down. Taking a deep breath, he sighed.

"You've heard then? Queen Elsa's gone."

"We've heard," Cornelius replied, his voice catching in his throat. "How's Nick? And you? What wound?"

"It's nothing major, honestly," said Morgan, though from his tone, Cornelius could tell he was lying. "I took a crossbow bolt to the stomach during the fighting is all. I'll recover. Just a liquid diet for a week or two, and I can't strain myself or I'll tear open the stitches. Would be worse, but dragons heal fast. You should see Yuë. Poor girl took a cut on the back that got infected, and she can't leave her bed."

Cornelius sucked in a breath. That certainly did not seem like nothing. He had seen Morgan's armor before, once when the four of them had been in Arendelle before he was wed, and the steel had been well forged and solid. To punch through that with a crossbow… The force would have been tremendous, and Morgan was lucky to still be alive, let alone shaking off the wound as he currently seemed to. As for Yuë… may Tsar Luna forgive him for seeming cold, but he barely knew the Imperial girl, and she was perhaps the last thing on his mind.

Morgan sighed, hanging his head. "As for Nick, I don't know. He's… avoiding me. Avoiding all of us really. After his dad left, he headed straight for the chapel to begin his mother's vigil, and he'll only be done in a few hours now. Prince Kristoff tried to go in to speak to him, but the doors were frozen closed."

 _Oh Nick…_ Cornelius sighed, reaching out to gently clap Morgan on the shoulder. He swallowed, not wanting to choke on his words. There was a lot for him to do. First, he had to find Uncle Kristoff and try to make some arrangements for his troops, and then he needed to get the full story, to make sure his other cousins were all right, to find Aunt Anna and let her know about the situation with Eléadoré…

"You know Nick," said Alyssa. "He's always been the sort to lock himself away when troubled, but he'll come out when he's ready. We just need to be there when he does." She hung her head, and her voice grew soft. "It's always hard losing a parent."

Cornelius put an arm around her, and he sighed again. There really wasn't anything else he could do right now.

* * *

"Nick?" Alyssa asked, pausing as she knocked on the chapel doors. Her friend's vigil should have ended two hours ago, and he still hadn't come out. She knew Nick, and she knew he liked his solitude when he was hurting, but this wasn't healthy. Shutting himself away from the world, not speaking to anyone… it reminded her of how he'd been a year ago, and she didn't like it.

"Go away."

She flinched. His voice sounded wrenched from his throat, dry and haggard, and he was hurting. Of course he was. He'd just lost his mother, and she knew how close the two of them were. She'd seen it firsthand. Where Queen Elsa went, Nick followed, and they were rarely apart. To lose his mother in this way…

Alyssa knew the pain of losing one's parents, and whilst Nick still had his father, Jack Frost was bound by Tsar Luna's decrees, no matter how much he resisted. There was some leighway, she'd learned over the years, such as times of great peril… but the truth was that one didn't get over losing a loved one. It wasn't like misplacing a watch or a necklace, which could always be replaced.

It was a hole in your heart that would never really heal. It would grow less tender with time, and the pain would dim in time, but the hole would always be there, and emptiness that could never be filled. The loss of her own parents was still raw, but she'd had time and Cornelius… Nick couldn't, shouldn't, be doing this on his own.

"No," she replied, and she reached out to press a hand against the door. It was frozen shut, but that wouldn't stop her. Pressing, she forced it open with a loud cracking of ice, and she recoiled at the sight that awaited her.

Nick was bloodied and filthy, still dressed in the armor he'd been fighting in. He was kneeling in front of the altar, holding his sword in his hands, and the floor was around him was covered in frost. It was like a blight, and hoarfrost coated the entire room, and in some places, it had erupted into small, jagged spire. Her breath misted in the air as she approached, and he turned, his hair matted to his face, and there was a chill in his eyes that had never been there before. Her friend looked almost… hollow, like a music box without gears, and there was so much blood on him…

His armor was crusted with the stuff, and his face was covered in red smudges. Tear tracks cut through the blood in places, but patches of his hair were pink and brown, and she had to squint to realise his cloak was blue. There was dirt as well, crusted beneath his nails, and his right hand was covered in reddened frost, as though a lot of blood had dried here.

"I said go away, Alyssa," he said, turning away from her. "I want to be alone."

"No," she repeated, walking towards him. "You're never alone."

Kneeling beside him, she gently pried the blade from his grasp and set it aside, glad that he was at least letting her. Reaching into a pocket for a handkerchief, she dabbed it into the nearby basin, flinching at how cold it was before bringing it to his face. The way she wiped his face was almost matronly, she realized, but she didn't care. The blood came off easily, but the dirt did not.

"Nick, I'm so sorry," she said, once she was satisfied that his face was decently clean. The rest of him could wait for later, but that much blood so close to one's eyes, nose, and mouth really wasn't good. "I know words don't mean much, but—"

"Then why are you speaking?" he interrupted.

"Because you were there for me," she replied without missing a beat. "Because, when my heart broke in Amoré, you were there. You all were. When I married Cornelius, you were there. When Cornelius needed help, when he was practically killing himself by bottling everything up, you were there. And I'm not leaving you alone, not now, not ever."

"Alyssa…" He trembled, a shudder running down his body, and then fresh tears were falling down his cheeks.

She pulled him into a hug, holding him as tightly as she could. He was far taller than her, and yet he was like a child in her arms. Sobbing into her shoulder, grasping at her back, trembling like a leaf… He let it out, and she simply remained silent, letting him.

After what felt like hours and he had fallen silent, she gently pulled away and dabbed at his eyes with her sleeve. Coaxing him to his feet, she slung a hand around his waist, holding him up, and they walked out of the chapel. The servants looked up, bowing low as Alyssa walked past them with Nick at her side, and condolences were thick in the air. They reached the stairs, and slowly, she led him up, heading for his bedroom.

"Morgan's room," he whispered. "All my stuff is there."

Nodding, Alyssa changed direction and headed that way instead, and she didn't let her surprise show. This was not the time to inquire into her friend's relationship, but if anything, she was glad he wouldn't be sleeping alone tonight. Morgan may be rather injured, but company would do them both good, and… having Cornelius beside her had been very comforting in those first few days after Amoré, and she suspected it may help Nick to have his boyfriend with him.

"You're going to get cleaned up, okay?" she said as she reached out to open the door. "I'll find you some clea—"

It was only then that she realized that they weren't alone. Morgan was sitting on the bed, looking up, his eyes shining with a mixture of relief and concern, and Cornelius was sitting in the armchair beside the fireplace. They'd been speaking, she realized, and she hoped she hadn't disturbed anything to important.

"Nick," said Cornelius, hopping to his feet and hurrying over. Pulling his cousin into a tight hug, he said, "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, Cor," whispered Nick, grasping onto his cousin as though he'd fall over without some support. "I'm… I'm glad you're here."

Nick swallowed, and Alyssa released her hold on him, letting the cousins have their moment beside the doorway. Glancing at Morgan, she caught the unsure look on his face, and she shook her head. Nick hadn't even glanced at him when they'd walked in, and there was an all too familiar expression in Morgan's eyes, one she remembered feeling many times over the years. Walking over, she sat down beside him. There was a tinge of colour in his cheeks, and he looked a lot better than he had this morning, but he still winced at even the slightest movement.

"Sometimes," she said, keeping her voice very low. "You just need to take a step back for a bit, especially when it comes to those to two." She smiled, raising her hands and linking her fingers together. "It's Cor and Nick, and there's never one without the other. I've seen siblings less close than those two."

"I know," said Morgan, sighing. "I get it."

"I've been there, you know, on the outside looking in," she said, patting him on the back. "They're like brothers, and there's no getting between them when they're really hurting, but in the end, we're there to give them the support the other cannot."

"You and I will always be the partner, is that what you're saying?" asked Morgan, raising an eyebrow. "I know. I just… I want to be there for him, you know, but I wish he knew that."

"He knows," she said. "Just give him time. That's all you can do. Give them time and be there to pick them up when they fall."

* * *

The room was silent for a long time. Morgan sat on the bed, resting a hand over his belly to try and dim the throbbing in his gut, and Alyssa remained at his side. Her presence was oddly comforting. Across the room, Nick and Cornelius still stood beside the closed door, locked in their embrace, and he understood. He wanted to be there for Nick instead of Cornelius, to hold him and wipe away his tears, but some bonds went deeper than romantic love, he knew, and from what he'd heard, the princes of Arendelle and Corona had been almost inseparable since they were two years old.

With only a single stretch of sea between the kingdoms, he knew they visited each other often, whether by sailing or by flying. Cornelius had a ratty old flying carpet that Morgan didn't quite trust, if memory served, and the cousins made a point of meeting at least once a month. Alyssa was right. He did need to take a step back, to let Nick grieve in his own way, and it was time for him to step in, then he would.

"You need to get cleaned up," said Cornelius, finally breaking both the silence and the embrace. His cheeks were streaked with tears, and he patted Nick on the shoulder. "When's the last time you bathed? You'll feel better when you're clean."

Nick nodded, and he reached up for his armor. His fingers trembled over the clasps, and he fumbled at them, frustration beginning to grow in his eyes as he tried and failed. Morgan bit his lip as he got to his feet, reaching for his cane, and he limped across the room. As he walked, he closed his eyes and let his tail slide out of his back. Behind him, Alyssa gaped, and in front of him, Cornelius' eyes grew as wide as saucers. Morgan frowned.

It would seem that some people weren't as familiar with his partial transformations as Nick was, because his boyfriend showed no sign of surprise.

Using his tail to balance himself, he leaned his cane against the door and reached out to undo the clasp of Nick's cloak. His fingers felt a little stiff, but he undid it all the same, and he let the blood-crusted fabric fall to the ground. Immediately, he moved to the buckles of Nick's breastplate.

"Please don't strain yourself," said Nick, his voice so soft Morgan almost didn't hear it. "You shouldn't even be walking."

"I'll be fine," he replied, realization taking him. _Nick was worried about him._ Well, that was a two-way street, and even if they both were dealing with their own injuries, his physical and Nick's emotional, then they could still lean on each other all the same. Turning to Cornelius, he gestured to the chest of drawers. "His stuff is in the top drawers, mostly. Socks and underwear are in the second drawer at the bottom."

Undoing Nick's breastplate and moving on to his pauldrons as Cornelius nodded and went off to get a change of clothes, Morgan hooked an arm around Nick's shoulders as he set down the armor. "Let's go."

He steered his boyfriend towards their shared bathroom, and once they were in, he set to work on the rest of the armor. First went the vambraces and gauntlets, and then he undid the shinguards, finally unhooking the gorget before kneeling to remove Nick's codpiece and cuisses. The armor would need to be thoroughly cleaned, and it was very likely that it would need to be regilded.

"I… Thank you," said Nick, as Morgan turned the faucets, filling the tub with water. "I'm…"

 _I'm glad you're here._ Morgan nodded, not needing Nick to finish. Helping his boyfriend out of his filthy clothes, he let Nick climb into the tub and he turned away, perching on the rim and listening to the slosh of water and and his boyfriend's movements as he scrubbed himself clean.

"Do you know what I did to Prince Hans when I realized Mum was dead?" asked Nick after what felt like an eternity. His voice was strained and quiet.

"I heard some," replied Morgan, turning. His eyes widened in shock. The water was a reddish-brown-black, and Nick didn't seem to have noticed. Hurriedly, he stuck an arm into the tub and yanked out the stopper, letting the water drain. He'd refill it, but Tsar Luna, that was a lot of blood to come off one person's skin, and Nick hadn't even started on his hair.

"What're you… Oh." Nick looked down at the water as though just now seeing it. "Something snapped in me, Morgan, and I'm scared. I've never felt power like that, and Mum's gone. I ripped out his heart with my bare hands, and I enjoyed doing it. It's… is that what grief turns me into? A monster. He was evil, there's no denying it, but he didn't deserve… I tortured him before I killed him. I lost myself to the cold. Morgan, I'm scared, and everything hurts, and I don't know what I'm going to do without Mum. She was always there. Always. I'm sixteen. I still need her. They're calling me King Nicholas, they're already looking to me to lead them, and I can't. I don't know how. Dad's gone. Tsar Luna already recalled him, and he couldn't refuse because he broke every rule in the book just to bring Mum's body home, and Aunt Anna's a mess as well because Mum was her sister, and I'm alone here, Morgan, and I need my Mum, but she isn't coming back, is she? She's dead. She's gone."

His heart broke as he listened to his boyfriend babble, and he realized the tub had drained. Putting the stopper in and turning the faucet, he listened, knowing that was what Nick needed right now. At any other time, he'd have cut Nick off by now, pointing out that he'd started babbling, but this time, he couldn't. This was possibly the first time Nick was getting it all off his chest, and honestly, Morgan was glad that he was there to listen, even if he didn't know what to say. He reached out to cup Nick's face, swallowing to keep his own tears at bay. One of them had to be strong, and it was Nick's mother, not his, but Queen Elsa had been kind to him since the day he met her, and there were precious few people who'd done that over the years. Most woman would balk at their son dating _him_ , given who he was, who his mother was, but she had welcomed him in with open arms.

Queen Elsa had been one hell of a woman, and she'd left a mark on him even in the brief period he'd known her.

"You're a good person, Nick," he said, leaning in to press his brow to his boyfriend's. "You're a good person who was pushed too far, and you snapped. That doesn't make you evil. That doesn't make you bad. Whatever you did to Prince Hans, he deserved it. He'd have killed us all, including Morrigan, and you know that. He was a monster, and heroes kills monsters, not villains."

"And I've seen you rule as Prince Regent. Your people respect and love you, and you're a good ruler. You're kind and you're diplomatic, and you once spent an entire afternoon listening to the Duke of Weselton whine just to sort out the problem he was having because you knew it was what was right for your kingdom, and you came to bed exhausted and too irritable to even speak, but you still sat through another day of negotiations with him all the same. And, when you were done, even he couldn't find fault with the way you handled things."

Nick cut him off with a kiss, and it was both desperate and frantic, almost as though his boyfriend was searching for something that he'd lost. Morgan returned the kiss as much as he could, because it hurt to move, and he couldn't lean in any further without the pulling in his belly becoming unbearable. Finally, he was forced to pull away, grunting in pain as he clutched at his stomach, and he slid to the ground, leaning against the tub.

"I'm sorry," Nick's sounded terrified. "Did I hurt you? Oh, Tsar Luna, did I tear open the stitches? I didn't think. I'm sorry. I just needed to know you were real. That you were still there. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Nick, I'm fine," said Morgan, turning and propping himself up on his tail. "Don't worry about it. It takes more than an arrow to kill a dragon, and I doubt you could with a kiss."

Nick sighed in relief, sinking back into the water, and he closed his eyes. Morgan reached out to take his hand, and he couldn't help but feel a brief flicker of a smile flit across his lips as Nick linked his fingers with his.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Nick," he said, "I can't tell you it'll all be okay. I can't promise that you'll feel better in the morning. All I can promise is that I'll be here for you, whatever you need, whether it's a kiss or a shoulder to cry on."

"Tonight, all I need is for you to hold me," said Nick. " Because it hurts less when I'm with you."

* * *

Reaching up, Bryn knocked on Morgan's door.

She didn't know where else to go. Her mother was busy seeing to plans for the funeral, and her father was busy as well. She didn't blame them. The past few days had been a nightmare, and now her Aunt Elsa was never coming home either, and after everything, she really didn't want to be alone right now. To be honest, she didn't think she could be alone. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still see her mother standing at the end of the staircase, sword raised, and the Hollow One leaping forward.

She could still them surrounding them in the woods. She could still see Sven sacrificing himself to protect her mother. She could still see Claude's determined expression as he'd made his stand with the other guardsmen in the woods.

Brynhildr had always considered herself a strong-willed person, one that didn't break easily, but she was reaching her limit, and she didn't know what she'd do if she couldn't find someone to comfort her. She was bold. She was brazen. She was powerful.

She was also a ten-year-old girl who was scared out of her mind, and she just needed a friendly face.

The door swung open, and she frowned to see her cousin, Prince Cornelius, standing in the doorway, clad in a shirt and a pair of shorts. Before she could open her mouth, he brought a finger to his lips, indicating for her to be quiet.

"Softly," he whispered. "Nick's just gone to sleep, and he's taking this really hard, you know? What's up, Bryn?"

"I don't want to be alone right now," she said, "Please?".

Her cousin hesitated for only a second before letting her in.

She looked around the room. Princess—no, Queen, she had to remember that now—Alyssa was asleep on the window-seat, covered by half-a-dozen blankets, and there was a thick fur duvet on the empty armchair which Cornelius had obviously been using. A fire crackled in the grate, but the air was cooler than she'd have expected. Morgan was sitting up in bed, looking at her with a raised eyebrow, and Nick was asleep at his side.

She started. Morgan had a _tail_ coming out of his back, and it was wrapped around her cousin's waist, and Nick was hugging the end of it, almost as one would hold a teddy bear.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. I just… I just…"

It was hard to say it, because she always prided herself on being strong. She rarely cried, even when she got hurt, but ever since returning to the castle, it had all come crashing down on her. Her heart hurt, and once the last remnants of Uncle Peter's serenity spell had faded, it had been as though she was buried under an avalanche of negativity.

"Hey," said Morgan, smiling at her and extending a hand. "It's okay to be scared, you know. I do it all the time."

She took his hand and he pulled her into a hug, and she felt a little bit lighter at his words. At the end of the day, he was her friend, and she'd grown a bit attached to him since their first meeting at breakfast all those weeks ago. He was her cool dragon friend, and he was amusing to prod at and tease, but he was also her only friend in the castle. There weren't many children her own age around, and the ones in the city didn't quite mesh with her.

"Can I stay here tonight?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Sure," he said. "I think there's at least one more spare blanket in the closet, and the loveseat is free. Besides, everyone seems to think my room is an inn tonight, so what's one more?"

"Thanks Morgan," she said, squirming out of his grasp as he ruffled her hair. Scurrying across the room as quietly as she could, she dug about the closet until she found the blanket, and then she hopped onto the loveseat.

Cornelius was already dozing in the armchair, and Morgan was lying down again. Alyssa stirred before huddling down onto her cushions, and Bryn stifled a yawn as she made herself comfortable. This time, when she closed her eyes, she didn't see the nightmares. Sleep claimed her, and there wasn't a single bad dream to be found.

* * *

His sleep broke at about an hour past midnight, and he woke to find the fire burning low in the grate. Morgan was sprawled out beside him, and his boyfriend's tail was wrapped around him, oddly comforting and warm.

It hurt. Everything hurt. He wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, and then wake up to find out that it had all been a terrible dream. A tear ran down his cheek, falling to soak into the pillow with all the rest. It wasn't a dream, because this nightmare was very real.

The tail moved, growing slightly tighter around him for a few seconds, and then the tip twitched against his hand. Without thinking, Nick took it, and held it against him, all but hugging it to his chest. It was stupidly comforting, really, but it was heated and strangely cuddly despite the scales.

"I love you, Morgan," he whispered, and he closed his eyes, because maybe it wouldn't all be okay in the morning, and maybe the pain wouldn't disappear when he woke, but he had his dragon, and maybe, that would be enough to weather this storm.


	30. Heimr Arnadalr

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Five**

 **Heimr Arnadalr**

* * *

" _I want Daddy," he cried, beating his fists on the ground. "I want him. I want him now."_

 _Frost burst from his fingers, coating the carpet, and his mother stroked his back, and she looked sad, so very sad as she knelt beside him. Tears glimmered in her eyes, and she clasped his small fists in her hands._

" _Nick, you'll hurt yourself," she said, and he struggled against her grasp. He wanted his father. He didn't want her. Not now. She was always there, but Dad was never around. Never._

" _I want Daddy," he repeated, yanking himself away from her. "I miss him and I want him now."_

 _And, his mother pulled him into a hug, stroking his hair and letting him cry into her shoulder. Softly, too softly for him to hear or even understand, she whispered._

" _I want him too."_

The walk to the throne was a long one.

His doublet and cloak were black, and the sleeves were slashed to reveal the pale-blue fabric beneath. There were snowflakes sewn along the hem of the cloak, and it was trimmed in fur. This was not how things were done, for in Arendelle, monarchs were crowned in blue and purple, and they usually wore tentative smiles upon their faces. The tapestries were usually rich, and invites would be sent to every royal and noble in the known world, but this was not just a coronation. It was a wake.

Nick had begged for them to wait, to hold off on his official crowning until his mother's ashes were at least cold, but the nobility was uneasy. The recent attack on the capital by a rebellious vassal state had shaken their fate in the power of the throne, as had the circumstances surrounding his mother's death, and a show of power had to be made.

In these dark times, the throne must be secure, and as always, he was a prince… now a king, first, and Nick second. He swallowed. In many ways, he had changed, and he was okay being himself… but, it had only been because of his mother that he was happy. Before his parents had assured him it would be okay, before she'd being his support through everything…

He owed her everything. Everything.

.

" _Daddy!" he squealed, scrabbling out of his mother's arms and rushing across the floor. His father dropped to a crouch, and Nick leapt into his arms, grinning as Jack Frost ruffled his hair and picked him up off the ground._

" _You've grown," his father teased, ruffling his hair. "Soon, you'll be taller than me, my little beanstalk."_

 _He giggled, and his father walked towards his mother with him tucked in one arm, and then he was squashed between his parents as they kissed. Protesting, he reached up to try and pry their lips apart, because kissing like that was a little gross, and also because he didn't like being squeezed._

" _Mummy," he scolded. "You said it's not nice to kiss people like that. Only on the cheek, never on the lips."_

 _She chuckled, reaching down to pinch his cheek, and he stuck out his tongue at her. A trio of snowflakes ghosted from her fingertips to tickle at his nose, and he batted them away with a small fist, giggling as he did so._

" _When you're older, much older, you'll find someone who's worth breaking the rules for."_

 _._

The castle staff wore black, and the ladies were sniffling into their handkerchiefs. The menfolk wore reddened eyes and weary expressions, and the message was clear. No matter how highborn or lowborn, all of Arendelle mourned his mother, because she had left a mark upon them all.

With the seas still impassable, very few dignitaries could attend, but that was for the best. There would be no celebratory ball, and there would be no festivities. Nick wanted to keep this short and simple, as close to tradition as possible whilst cutting away every last bit of fluff.

Near the front of the room stood his family. Aunt Anna had dark rings beneath her eyes, and her black dress was ripped along the skirts, revealing the same pale-blue as his sleeves. A show of mourning. Snow and ice was Arendelle, and snow and ice its people, and when they mourned, they bled frost.

Morrigan was cradled at her mother's breast, asleep and innocent to the tragedies of the past few days. Nick shook his head. His cousin was still a baby. One day, he'd tell her about her aunt, and he'd be able to smile as he relived the memories.

But that day was not today, and he still felt as though he'd never be warm again.

 _._

 _He giggled, twirling his fingers as he loosened the snow above the stable doors. There was a lot of it, piled high and perched precariously upon the tiles, and it would just take a nudge to all come tipping over. Uncle Kristoff was inside, brushing Sven down after a hard day's riding to the troll village to visit his family._

 _Ducking behind a snowdrift, Nick giggled, waiting for his uncle to walk out of the stables. It would be funny, and snow was harmless._

" _Up to some mischief, are we?"_

 _He balked, looking up and biting his lip as he realized he'd been caught. His mother was standing over him with her hands folded across her chest, and there was an amused glint in her eye. Winking, she dropped to her knees beside him, and she twirled her fingers._

 _The snow atop the roof tiles doubled in size, and he giggled. It was always fun when Mum decided to help him in his pranks, and the two of them waiting, warm despite the cold, and as Uncle Kristoff stepped out of the stables, they flicked their wrists in unison._

 _The snow came tumbling down and he let out a yelp of surprise, and then he was buried up to his waist. Dusting himself off and glancing around in annoyance, he spotted them and shook his head upon realizing that Elsa was there as well._

" _You spoil him, you know that, right?" said Uncle Kristoff, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his voice._

" _I know," said Queen Elsa, reaching down to scoop Nick up into her arms. "He's a rascal, but he's my rascal."_

 _._

Uncle Kristoff sat beside his wife, unable to stand up for too long. Part of the wall had collapsed on his leg during the attack, and even with the cast and a cane, his uncle was having trouble staying upright. Nick swallowed. His uncle was one of the lucky ones, as was Morgan. There were many who had not been so lucky, and he'd witnessed more funerals in the past few days than he had in his entire life.

And, beside his uncle stood his cousin. For once in her life, Bryn had dressed appropriately, but she didn't look right in black. Her expression was wrong as well, a strange mix of sorrow and fear, and he wanted to kneel down beside her and wipe at her face until it was gone, just like he sometimes cleaned off the dirt on her nose. She was ten… too young for the horrors she'd faced whilst fleeing the besieged castle, and it killed him that he hadn't been strong enough to protect her… to protect them, any of them.

.

" _Nick!"_

 _His mother opened the door, her eyes widening as she caught sight of him hovering against the ceiling clad in nothing but a towel. He'd grabbed at it in his haste, and now his cheeks burned red as he felt her eyes upon him. Squirming, he clamped his knees together to make sure nothing was on display, and his cheeks burned red as he tried and failed, not for the first time, to get down._

 _He'd remained like this for nearly an hour before admitting defeat and sending a stream of frost to find her and let her know he needed help. Their secret ways of sending messages had always been dear to him, but today was the day he finally realized how life-saving it could be._

" _I can't get down," he admitted, biting his lip. "Help, please."_

" _Nick, you've been flying for years. Just come down."_

" _I can't," he said, urging her to understand. "I'm trying, I am, and I just can't. I didn't even try to get up here. I just took off my socks to get into the tub and then I started floating."_

 _His mother looked at him, and then she looked at the tub. Her eyes flickered over the bottles of shampoo and lotion he'd knocked over as he'd scrabbled for something to hold onto, and the water running over the edges because he hadn't been able to turn off the tap. The water was a soapy grey, as the soap had fallen in, and judging by how long he'd been up here before plucking up the courage to call for help, most of it had already dissolved._

 _Then, she shook her head and flicked her wrist. His feet felt very cold, and a pair of boots made of ice formed around them. He yelped as he fell to the ground, closing his eyes on the way down, and he landed in a large pile of snow._

" _You okay?" his mother asked, helping him to his feet._

" _Nothing hurt but my pride," he replied, and she laughed as she ruffled his hair before walking out the door._

 _._

He walked by Cornelius and Alyssa, and then Morgan, not trusting himself to look at any of them. They'd been his pillars of support these past few days, propping him up and never leaving his side, and if he paused now, he'd begin to cry again.

He couldn't do that.

So, he simply walked on, coming to a halt in front of the dias. The bishop stood before him, an old man with a high hat, and without a word, the bishop offered him an orb and a sceptre. There was no need for words. Bishop Alfarin had once stood at this very dias to crown his mother, and several years later, he'd conducted Nick's christening as well. Yet, there was no time for remembrance and sentimentality now. If Nick looked back, he would weep, and he had to be strong, at least until he was alone. Biting his lip, he lifted his hands, accepting both the orb and sceptre.

The orb grew tinged with frost beneath his touch, and ice crept along the sceptre. Closing his eyes, he tried to draw in his power and he failed. Giving up, he merely nodded for the bishop to continue. A pot of oil came next, and two fingers touched him on the brow. He knelt, and the bishop chanted words in the language of Old Arendelle, a language that he himself had never fully learned.

 _._

" _Mum, I'm gay."_

 _He waited at the edge of the picnic blanket, shifting from foot-to-foot, painfully aware of the world around him. His cheeks were hot as flames, and his stomach felt like lead. His father was perched in the boughs of the tree above them, giving him a reassuring look, but he didn't feel particularly assured in the first place._

 _He waited._

 _He could still be king. They'd worked it out between them yesterday, his father and himself, and he could still do his duty to the throne. He could be a good king, just like the one she'd raised him to be, but he could be happy as well. But, he needed her permission._

 _Because, even if it made him miserable, if she told him that he needed to do the things he feared just to ensure the throne was secure, then he'd do them. He was a prince first and Nick second, and his duty was to Arendelle, just as hers was. Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let it show._

 _Be the good boy you were always meant to be._

" _Really?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, this is a surprise, to be honest… but, it's not a bad one. Not at all."_

" _Look, if I need to marry a princess to secure the throne, I will, and I'll even have an heir with her. Just… I had to tell you, and I know you probably would prefer I wasn't, but it's who I a—"_

" _Nick, I would love and support you if you told me you were an axe-murderer," said his mother, cutting him off. "Granted, I'd have some concerns, but I'd still love and support you all the same. So, smile, because your happiness will always come first to me."_

 _And, for the first time in a long time, the weight lifted off his shoulders._

 _._

The bishop placed the crown upon his head. It was a simple crown: the band was a double helix of white-gold, and the only adornment was a single teardrop-shaped sapphire upon his brow, lying just above his eyes and in line with his nose. Tiny diamonds were set into the bands, glinting like freshly fallen snowflakes, and it was not much different from his circlet, but neither he nor his mother had been the type to enjoy the gaudy crowns of the other kingdoms. Nick inclined his head before rising. His fur-trimmed cloak was heavy with frost as he stood, but he withstood it all the same.

"In Tsar Luna's name and by his will, I anoint you and I crown you, King Nicholas Frost, the first of your name, King Arnadalr XXVII of Arendelle and all who dwell within its lands. Long may you reign."

Rising to his feet, he swallowed before sitting the throne. It felt wrong, because this was his mother's seat. Taking a deep breath, he looked up, crowned and anointed, holding both orb and sceptre, covered in frost.

"Long may he reign," said all who stood as witness. "Tsar Luna preserve King Nicholas. Long may he reign."

Aunt Anna was dabbing at her eyes, and she looked proud… so very proud, and sad. Uncle Kristoff met his eye and nodded, one hand fisted over his heart, and Bryn gave him a tentative smile. Alyssa was smiling as well, though her eyes were wet, and Cornelius winked, though his eyes were red and puffy, and he wore a similar expression to Aunt Anna, pride and sadness intermingling over his features.

Finally, he looked at Morgan.

" _I love you,"_ thought-spoke his boyfriend.

 _I love you too._

Nick sat the throne of Arendelle, and he closed his eyes, a thousand emotions threatening to overwhelm him. A trio of snowflakes ghosted across his face. Finally, he opened them, and he took a deep breath.

"Mother," he whispered. "Watch over me."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

* * *

 **A/n:** And, that's a wrap for Book One. I do hope you've all enjoyed this story. Book Two of the End of Ever After will begin from Chapter 26 onwards, and I'll be posting the first chapter in a few weeks. When working with EEA, I like to have a strong buffer of chapters to keep a semi-regular updating schedule, and to be honest, I've recently had to rework a major part of Book Two, which is the reason for the delay.

That aside, thank you all for the love and support, and I hope you enjoy Book Two.

-Shane


	31. Broken Glass

**Book Two  
**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Six**

 **Broken Glass**

 _One Month Later_

* * *

"Hello," said Lucile, crouching beside the low fence. "You're a pretty little fellow, aren't you?"

The chicken squawked, looking at her with beady eyes, and she thought it was smiling, though it was very hard to tell given the beak. She smiled, reaching out a hand, and she felt a pang in her chest as she did so. _This isn't right._ Biting down on her misgivings, she forced her smile to remain on her face, and she beckoned.

"Hey," said the chicken as it approached. "You can talk?"

"I'm gifted," she said, reaching out to stroke the bird's feathers. "My name is Lucile Charmant. Shall we go for a walk?"

"I'm not supposed to leave the garden," said the chicken, sounding hesitant.

"We won't go far," she replied, looking around to be sure nobody had spotted her. The cottage was still dark, and the farmer was likely still asleep. It was rather early, but she could feel eyes on her all the same. Frowning, she spotted the horse in the pasture, glaring balefully in her direction.

Horses were intelligent animals, unlike chickens, and the it was on to her. Biting her lip and knowing she had to hurry, she beckoned again before helping the chicken through the fence. Tucking it under one arm, she ignored the aching in her chest at her subterfuge, and she spoke again.

"Where are we going?" asked the chicken.

"Not far," she said. "I just miss the birds back home. I thought you and I could talk for a bit. I miss home."

Padding through the woods, she ducked into a clearing, and her brother popped out of the bushes, acting faster than she could react. In a split-second, Jaq had yanked the bird from her arm and sharply twisted its neck, his expression curling in distaste as he did so. A sob escaped her lips, and she looked away, not wanting to watch. Then, he had an arm around her shoulder, holding the dead bird behind his back.

"I'm sorry, Luce," he said, and his voice was strained. "I know you hate using your power like this."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as he led her back to their campsite. It was much deeper in the woods, in a place where they were confident they wouldn't be found. At least for a while, because they'd have to move again soon, because the countryside was crawling with Tremaine's soldiers, and their own citizens would turn them in if they tried seeking shelter in the villages and towns they passed.

Lucile knew why the chicken had to die. They were starving, and Jaq hadn't eaten in two days. The last of the bread he'd stolen from the last village had been given to her, and she'd been too hungry to refuse and ask him to eat some himself. It didn't make it any easier. None of this was easy. From fleeing their castle in the dead of night as Tremaine staged her coup, from the soldiers finding them near the town… Jaq had protected her, but they'd lost their horses in the fight, and then they'd had to go on foot for the rest of the journey to Somnia.

They didn't trust the villagers, not now, not with such a large price on their heads. It had been camping out in woods or sleeping in abandoned barns, and it was beginning to wear her down. Her legs hurt, and she didn't think her back would ever stop aching from lying on the ground. Jaq was doing better, but her brother had always been the sort to suffer in silence, so if he was hurting worse than she knew, he didn't let on.

Finally, they reached their campsite, and Jaq set about plucking the chicken as best he could. She sighed, sinking to the ground, and she hugged her legs to her body, burying her head in her knees. _Mother. Father. Watch over me and Jaq._

"Luce," said Jaq, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. "It'll be okay. It will. We'll be in Somnia in a week or so, and King Philip will help us. He may not be a nice person, but he's bound by the council, and Queen Aurora has always been friendly with Mother."

"I know. I know," she said, looking up at her brother with a wan smile.

The truth was, even as their lives had crumbled to dust around them, there was nobody she'd rather have with her. Jaq was younger than her, but in many ways, he'd always been a big brother, even though he was shorter than most boys his age. For as long as she could remember, he'd been her knight in shining armor, with his doe eyes, mousy brown hair, and glass sword. Still shy of eighteen, her brother had always been her most stalwart protector, and he'd only been fourteen when he'd pledged her sword to her service.

In Eléadoré, the laws of inheritance where different to the rest of the world. Here, the oldest child always came first, regardless of gender, but it had not always been that way. She had rejoiced when her brother had been born, knowing that the crown would pass from her father's head to his… and then the healers had given Jaq his diagnosis, and her father had been forced to change the law. In a matter of days, she had gone from a princess planning on spending her years in a convent to a future queen, but try as she might, she could not begrudge Jaq for it. Still, it was not what she wanted. For her, joy came from prayer, reading poetry, sewing, and spending her days in the castle gardens with the small assortment of animals she'd adopted over the years.

For Jaq, joy was duelling the other lads in the castle courtyard, or else wandering their city, listening to travelling merchants tell of far-off lands. He was made for taverns and inns, but he drank sparingly, opting to enjoy the bards and minstrels as they sang of great adventures, but, through it all, and even with the knowledge that for a quirk of fate, he'd be the heir over her, he'd never faltered in his role as both her sword and her shield.

As her brother lit the fire and set the chicken to roast, she searched for her bag. Reaching in, she dug about until she found the shirt he'd ripped a few days ago, and she sighed. It was his favourite, and she'd bought it for him last Christmas. Digging about for her sewing needle and thread, she began to repair the damage as best she could.

"Do you remember when the Rêveres last visited?" she asked, not wanting to spend their time in silence. "I daresay that Leon Rêvere does."

"He was asking for that broken nose," said Jaq, looking up with a faint smile. "Pawing at your skirts like that even whilst our fathers discussed a betrothal contract between you and his brother."

"And aren't I glad that fell through," she said, shuddering at the memory. "Anthony Rêvere. They say he already has three bastards running around his father's castle, to say nothing of the rumours. It would have been good for Eléadoré, but I'd rather die a virgin queen than marry him."

"Tsar Luna, I hate the Rêveres." He snorted. "I can't believe we're relying on them for help. If I'm being honest, I'd have rather we made for Renvale, but the trip is longer, and with King Charming dead and both heirs gone, I'm not sure Queen Snow is in any position to help us."

"Tragedy seems to be stalking us all, doesn't it? They say Queen Belle and King Adam are gone as well, and that Amoré lies in ruins. And the war in the Imperium… Jaq, I'm scared. What if we get to Somnia and they're in trouble as well?"

He reached out and squeezed her wrist, and she looked up to meet his eyes. They were warm and comforting, and he had a dead cow It was all the reassurance she needed.

"Remember what Mother always told us, Luce," he said. "No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dreams that you wish will come true."

* * *

Dinner was a pleasant affair, especially now that Damon had gotten around to finding a new chef. There had been something very wrong with the old one, an Amoréan, and the food she'd cooked was far too reminiscent of the meals she'd cooked whilst Dominique and his mummy had still been alive. It was galling, really, for her to profane their memories by cooking their favourite dishes and then serving it to him as though she was oblivious to the pain it caused.

So, she'd had to go. It was a simple process, and if he was being honest, she'd had the most delightfully rosy skin. It was a shame that human skin lost its lustre when peeled away from a person's body, because Damon was sure that his old chef's skin would have made the perfect scarf. Still, her screams had been beautiful, and her skin had turned even rosier as he'd slid his flaying knife along her arms.

He sighed. It just wasn't the same without Dominique at his side. His sister had made even the most irrelevant of tasks enjoyable. Her quick wit and flare for creativity was what he missed most about her, but the loneliness of the nights were what stung worse. She'd always understood him, his beautiful sister, his other-half, his twin…

Renata perched on his lap, slicing his meat for him, and whenever he swallowed, she brought another forkful to his mouth. Good girl, serving him just as Dominique had when she wanted to spoil him, but even after he'd dyed Renata's hair and painted her face with his sister's make-up, she still wasn't _her._ His other pet, Prince Caspian, knelt beneath the table, and at Damon's insistence, was using his mouth for the purposes that deemed found most suitable for the prince. He was clumsy and oafish at his job, slightly sloppy as well, and he was nowhere near as talented as Dominique had been, but he'd do.

Damon sighed. It just wasn't the same without Dominique around, and it was even worse that he hadn't been able to retrieve her body. At least he'd been able to find his mummy, though Cruella had been withered to a husk, and that had just been another blow. His mummy hadn't graced his bed often, but she'd _comforted_ him that night when he'd returned to Grimhilde, covered in his sister's blood and burned from Morgan's flames. He clenched his fist at the memory. His sister and his mummy… the two women he'd loved, the toys he'd never wished to break… they were both gone, ripped from him by those bloody dragons.

Damn Maleficent. Damn her son. Damn them all.

He'd see them all flayed to the bone, and he'd stitch clothes from their scales.

"I see you've been busy in my absence, Damon."

A thrill ran down his spine as he looked up, and his lips spread into a broad grin. Standing in the doorway was a tall man, impeccably dressed, with high-cheekbones, dark eyes, and brunette hair that fell to his collar. Walking lightly, the man strode across the room, his boots clicking across the hardwood floors, and his flute hung at his waist on a silver chain.

"Daddy," he exclaimed in delight. "Why didn't you send word that you were coming to Hamelin?"

"I didn't intend to, but I couldn't leave my last love on his own now, could I?" replied his daddy. Leaning in, he pecked Damon on the cheek before taking a seat at the table, eyes glimmering as he seemed to notice Caspian beneath the table. "New pets, I see. How excellent."

"Introduce yourselves," ordered Damon, preening.

"Sir Piper," said Renata, her face contorting as she tried to resist his command and failed. "I am Renata Queen, and your son is my beloved friend and ally, whom I shall aid in his quest for revenge against those who took sweet Dominique from this world." She looked disgusted with herself, and he reached for the knife beside his plate, delicately running the blade along her bare thigh.

He did not dig deep enough to draw blood, but his message was clear. Hastily, she arranged her features into a smile. Damon smiled. It was lovely when his pets behaved themselves. When Caspian remained mutinously quiet, however, he gave the prince a sharp kick to the belly.

"Sir Piper," said Caspian, glaring up at Damon. "I am Prince Caspian of Aquitania, and it is my honour and privilege to serve your son."

"Be good," Damon warned. "You're useful, but the minute I tire of you, I'll peel the scales from your legs and have you made into fish pie."

"Busy indeed," said his daddy, and then his expression grew mischievous. Damon, my dear son, how would you like a little titbit of information, something I gathered in my travels that could prove quite useful."

"Daddy, you know how I love your words of wisdom," he said, grinning. "Tell me, is it the dragon whelp? I'd like to have him first."

"Patience, Damon. You cannot do this your mother's way." The Piper leaned forward in his chair, propping his head up on his fist. "She was a brash woman, and you're so much like her. But no, you must be like me now. Subtle and quick. Be the snake in the grass, ready to strike at the opportune moment and that moment alone."

Well, that sounded incredibly boring, thought Damon. What was the point of revenge if his enemies couldn't see him coming, if they couldn't let fear pool in their guts as they anticipated his attack? But, Daddy did have a proven track record, and not just with the children of Hamelin. His daddy had wandered the four corners of the world, bringing entire cities to his heel with just the music of his flute. He'd pilfered dragons from Berk and children from the Free Cities, and he'd travelled to the distant lands far to the west, and he'd brought home pets from there as well.

There was no denying that the Pied Piper knew how to get results, and that was what Damon wanted above all else.

"The King of Somnia has issued a reward for the Charmant siblings," said his daddy, smiling. "Now, Somnia remains one of the last bastions of the Council's power, and if your enemy wants something…"

"Then you have to get it first," finished Damon, brightening at the idea. He had been growing rather bored of Caspian as of late, especially given he couldn't break the prince, because the prince had power, and he was more useful as a puppet than a corpse. The Charmants on the other hand… they said the girl could talk to animals, and the boy owned a glass sword created by the same fairy who'd granted Queen Cinderella's wish, and neither of them seemed particularly useful to him in the long term.

"Very good, Damon," said the Piper. "Now, if I may borrow one of your pets for the night. It has been a long journey, and I don't have your mother to _greet_ me anymore."

"Take your pick, Daddy," said Damon, his eyes glinting. "They'll both follow your every word." Layering his voice with his allure, he smirked. "Won't you, Renata, Caspian?"

* * *

Morgan perched on the end of his window seat, reading his new book. _War Crimes._ It was an interesting read, though he wasn't quite fond of the style, and the diction itself seemed rather archaic. No sooner than the thought crossed his mind did he feel like quite the book snob, whining about things like diction when the book itself was not a particularly bad read, not compared to some of the drivel he'd found in Nick's library.

Recently, he'd been well enough to visit the city, and despite the fact that large parts of it were still in the process of being rebuilt, it was looking much better than it had in the wake of Prince Hans' attack. His boyfriend had repaired the walls with ice, and Cornelius's men had been instrumental in aiding Arendelle's restoration effort, though Morgan knew they'd rather be home, fighting the war that was currently being fought on their own soil.

Yet, the seas still remained impassable, and all messages sent to Atlantica received the same response. Queen Aquaria was trying her hardest, but there were other forces at work in the depths, and it would seem that another of his mother's old acquaintances had resurfaced in the form of Ursula the Sea Bitch. So, until the seas were restored, Cornelius' fleet remained in Arendelle, and King Eugene was on his own, fighting a war on two fronts.

Morgan sighed. It was as though they were playing a game of whack-a-mole, and no sooner did they quench one fire did another ignite. More than anything, he'd like to help his friend retake the capital of Corona… but Gothel was not a witch to be taken lightly, and even his flames wouldn't be enough to put her down.

Shaking his head, he turned his focus back to his book. It was the first of his new haul, and if he was being honest with himself, it had been rather nice to buy something with his own money. Well, it wasn't really his money, but there were a few perks to dating the new king, one of which was that nobody had batted an eye when Nick had given him the job of castle librarian—though Morgan suspected that was mostly to preserve his pride. As much as he loved Nick, he wasn't really comfortable casually helping himself to the gold in his boyfriend's money pouch, no matter how often Nick said that it was fine.

As if conjured by his thoughts, the door to their bedroom burst open and Nick stormed in, his crown askew. Not seeming to notice him, Nick turned to the desk, glanced at the pile of paperwork he'd left there in the morning, and shoved them all to the floor, knocking aside an inkpot, a basket of quills, and a vase of flowers as he did so. Leaning over the table, he panted, anger glinting in his eyes, and frost curled across the wood.

"Rough day?" said Morgan, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not cleaning that up, by the way."

Nick started, turning his head and looking at him with wide eyes. Sinking into the chair beside his desk, he fisted his hands in his hair, and he let out a sound that was half-a-chuckle and half-a-sob.

"I need to stop doing that, I know," Nick replied. "The carpet can only take so many more ink stains before we have to throw it out."

"Not to mention the local glassware stores have seen a surprising increase in their profits since you've taken to smashing every new vase we get," he added, closing his book and setting it down beside him. "So, who was it today, Frosty? The Duke of Weselton? The Duchess of Esmera? The twitchy broad from Svánangar?"

"All of them," said Nick, looking up. "They've heard that we've finally found Rolf Westergaard, and they're not pleased that I've thrown a duke into the dungeons to await my judgement. Now, whether the fact that the aforementioned duke is guilty of treason and conspiracy has crossed their minds remains to be seen. Tsar Luna, I don't know how my mother did it without going mad."

They both grew quiet, and Nick sighed as Morgan got up and walked towards his boyfriend. Wrapping his arms around him from behind in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, he took Nick's trembling hands in his own, wincing slightly as the frost bit into his skin. For a long moment, they remained like that, and he was just beginning to wonder if he should break out his tail—which, for some reason, his boyfriend seemed to find quite comforting—when Nick broke the silence.

"That's the first time, isn't it?" he said softly, looking up with a watery smile. "The first time I've brought her up without crying. That's a good thing, right?"

"You're healing," said Morgan, pressing his lips to his boyfriend's brow. "Years and years ago, my mother told me healing doesn't mean that the pain never existed. It just means that you're not letting it control your life anymore. And, that's a good thing."

Nick smiled, reaching up to caress his cheek. His fingers were cold, yet Morgan didn't mind. He'd grown used to it over the course of their relationship, and even if Nick turned their entire bedroom to ice, that didn't change the fact that it warmed his heart to see his boyfriend smile again. The past month had been difficult, and Nick had been a mess in the first week, but slowly yet surely, the spark was beginning to remerge.

"For I while, I felt as though my heart was frozen, as though the ice would never melt," said Nick, "I suppose it's a good thing I have my dragon to help thaw it."

"Your dragon?" asked Morgan, feeling a spark of something in his chest. "Does that make you my snowman?"

"It makes you mine," said Nick, "and it makes me yours."

Then, Nick kissed him, and his mind went blank as he returned the kiss. As if by instinct, he drew his boyfriend to him, pulling Nick off the chair and onto his lap, and he ignored the dull throb that came from his gut as his boyfriend's knee brushed the spot where the crossbow bolt had taken him. His hands fell to his boyfriend's waist as their kiss grew more heated and urgent, and he was dimly aware that they hadn't been together in this way since their first night back in Arendelle, before the siege, before Queen Elsa had died, before Nick's coronation.

It felt as though it had been years.

"Morgan, your wound," murmured Nick, breaking the kiss and meeting his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It's just a scar now," he said, his voice husky as he claimed his boyfriend's lips again. He saw still tender, yes, but he had healed, and if he was well enough to ride a horse, then he was well enough to have his boyfriend ride him.

Cool fingers tangled in his hair as clothes were shed, and he was sitting on the carpet with Nick on his lap and his boyfriend's legs wrapped around his waist, and they were surrounded by papers, broken bottles, and pools of ink. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the two of them, and indeed, everything faded as his boyfriend began to move, moaning between the kisses and arching his back as Morgan sank his teeth his the soft flesh of his shoulder, sucking lightly to leave a mark.

" _I love you,"_ he thought-spoke, unable to speak as he left his mark.

Nick replied with a whine, throwing back his head and whimpering as hands traversed his body as he rolled his hips, and then Morgan gasped as those cold fingers ran down his back, tracing his scars one-by-one.

"I love you too," Nick murmured, and his cheeks were pink as he rested his brow against Morgan's.

" _I missed this, Frosty,"_ he thought-spoke, clasping his boyfriend's waist to hold him in place, not trusting himself to last if Nick kept moving like he was. " _Go slow. I want this to last."_

Nick chuckled and ran a hand down his cheek. Leaning in for a kiss, their lips brushed, and his boyfriend whispered, "Don't. I've missed being with you too much to stop at just one moment."

And Morgan kissed him, letting Nick move again, and his wings unfurled in his ecstasy, wrapping around the both of them, and the world could be coming apart around them for all he cared, but all he wanted was for this moment to last forever.

* * *

"So, tell me, what sordid romances do you have littering your past?" asked Ali, spearing a bit of steak on the end of his fork.

Christopher rolled his eyes. They were eating dinner in his friend's bedroom, which was quite nice, considering that dinner had always been a formal affair in Renvale. In truth, life in Agrabah was as informal as royal life could be, and there was little doubt in his mind that it was Sultan Aladdin's influence that had made the palace such a light-hearted and easy-going place. Ali's parents usually took their meals in Jasmine's study as they went about their business, and though there was an actual sit-down meal in the dining room twice a week, they were all permitted to dress as they'd like.

Ali even had a pet tiger who was currently dozing in the corner of the room. Christopher would be lying if he said he hadn't been afraid of Rajah upon first meeting him, but after the tiger had licked his face a few times, he figured that the tiger approved of him. Still, he was careful to never be alone with the tiger, mostly unlike Tigger, Rajah looked capable of ripping his head off within seconds.

In Renvale, his mother had always had him wear a suit to dinner, and they hadn't even been allowed to dish their own portions. That had been the servant's job, and all they'd do was eat in strained silence, though at the very least, his father had often tried to make polite conversation and take an interest in his life. The memory made him want to sigh. He had never had the best relationship with either of his parents, but King Florian had often tried to engage with him, and even if his father had never really understood, there'd been a sort of strained understanding between the two of them.

Christopher bit his lip as a horrible thought crossed his mind, but try as he might, he couldn't deny the truth of it. Even if it made him a terrible person, he'd have preferred to lose his mother than his father… Queen Snow had never showed him an ounce of warmth save for their brief meeting in Aquitania, and it was already too late.

He'd needed a mother when he'd been six and alone, not now that he was twenty and he had people who actually accepted him for who he was in his life.

"Earth to Christopher," said Ali, shaking him from his thoughts. "I asked a question."

Nibbling at his salad, Christopher shook himself to try and rid himself of thoughts of home. His friend, he'd learned, was a lover of gossip, which honestly didn't surprise him.

"If you must know, there are no sordid skeletons in my closet," he replied, rolling his eyes. "There was Priscilla, and I've told you how that ended. I suppose my attempted betrothal to Princess Lucile counts, but that fell through the minute my mother tried to foist me off onto the Charmants. And, if she counts, then my second failed betrothal counts as well, and that ended with my potential bride marrying another prince before growing fur whilst her father tried to maul me."

Ali raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "Well, you were spared a lifetime of boredom as far as Lucile goes. Priscilla, on the other hand… Well, I've made my thoughts clear on what I think of her." Ali's tone was disdainful, and Christopher rolled his eyes as he recalled the exact phrasing the other prince had used.

 _So, essentially, she loved a prince who stood to gain everything, but didn't love the same prince when he had nothing. You dodged an arrow there, Chris, believe you me._

But, that was unfair to her. At the end of the day, he understood why she had broken things off with him, but he couldn't deny that it still stung. She'd been his happy ending, or at least that's what he'd believed for the longest time. Yet, she was gone, just like so many others, but he couldn't regret the things that had once made him smile. Because of her, his life in Renvale had been bearable, because even he'd have gone mad without any positive human contact.

"You don't know her," he said. "I appreciate you taking my side, I do, but you have to understand that because of me, she had her entire life ripped up at the roots. I don't blame her for blaming me for that, even if it wasn't my fault."

"Well, while you take the high road, it's my job as your friend to dislike her," said Ali. "But, I'm no stranger to first loves falling apart, you know? I understand what you're saying."

"Even in Renvale, we've heard about your relationship with Aquaria." Christopher snorted. "She is your first love."

"Really?" replied Ali. "That's news to me. Believe me, Chris, but there have been others before her, some serious and some not, and on her end of things, there've been others before me. She's not my first love. She's my last."

"Then, perhaps you should be the one sharing sordid secrets," said Christopher, smirking as his friend flushed, obviously having not meant to say that last bit. Really, Ali was all talk, but beneath his rugged exterior, he truly was a softie. "Because I'm as pure and virginal as a white rose, and you're, well, not."

"You calling me a whore, Chris?" asked Ali, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Well, I can't say you're far off. I did get around back in the back in the day. But, how can I spill when you have nothing to offer in return?"

"Offer in return?" Christopher. "Ali, are you trying to make a deal with me?"

And, to his confusion, Ali's expression changed in an instant. His eyes grew dark, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and he clenched his fists. Glaring at him, Ali _hissed_ , and in the corner of the room, Rajah growled, rising to his feet and padding to his master's side, glaring at Christopher as he prowled. Gulping, Christopher looked around, wondering what the hell he'd said to elicit such a reaction.

"Never," said Ali. "Never say that again."

"Okay," said Christopher, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I said to upset you, but I'm sorry."

Just like that, Ali collapsed into himself, and the storm seemed to pass. The Prince of Agrabah closed his eyes, running a hand along Rajah's head, and when he opened his eyes, Christopher was surprised to see wetness. _What am I missing?_

"I'm sorry," replied Ali. "I shouldn't have snapped like that. Tomorrow, during training, I'll let you get the first hit in, just to make it up to you. I just… I thought I had gotten over a few bad memories of my own, and well, what you said just brought it all back."

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Christopher, not wanting to push but wanting to be there all the same.

This was uncharted territory for him, but he wanted to help Ali, because his friend had been there for him in more ways than one in the past month. From their daily sparring sessions which left them both slick with sweat and him covered in fresh bruises, to the roof over his head and the clothes on his back, Ali had done more for him than anyone else ever had, even going so far as to stay up with him some nights and just listen to him talk about how hellish life had been in Renvale.

And, now he supposed it was his turn to be the one offering comfort, if Ali would let him in.

"No. Yes. I don't know," said Ali, and he leaned his head against his arm. "Well, you're going to hear anyway, so it might as well come from me. Before Amoré, Agrabah had its fair share of troubles."

"The plagues?"

"Indeed," said Ali. "Now, the first plagues were the stuff of nightmares. All the water turned to blood, the kingdom was swarmed with biting insects and frogs, and wild beasts attacked with such ferocity that it was worth your life to leave the city limits. Now, you know about the locusts which ate through our granaries and the death of our livestock, but… see, the final plague, that put me on my deathbed. The death of every firstborn son in the land. I was dying. My fever was through the roof. I was losing more water through sweat than I could drink, and it felt like my blood was boiling in my veins. I couldn't walk. I could barely talk. I spent most of those days passed out from the pain, and while my parents tried to find a solution, Aquaria took care of me. She bathed me, fed me, changed the cloths on my head, and she forced me to take my medicine."

"Not that it would help," he continued, his voice hollow. "I was dying, and no amount of medicine can stop a magical curse. So, Aquaria, in her desperation, made a deal with Rumpelstiltskin, and I was saved. My kingdom was saved. She saved us all with her deal."

"What did she give in return?" asked Christopher, his eyes growing wide. He trembled, feeling a shiver run down his spine. He knew of Rumpel. Everyone did. And, everyone knew his deals always exacted a terrible price.

"Our child," replied Ali, looking away. "Our firstborn. She was pregnant at the time. Rumpelstiltskin cut the child from her womb and left her to bleed out on my bedroom floor. In many ways, that's how I know she's my last. You don't weather something like what he weathered without being changed forever."

"Ali…"

"No, it's okay. It's something I'm working through, and having you around has been really helpful in that regard. It's nice to train with you, or just go wandering the city, or just chat while you draw. Aquaria can't leave Atlantica, not so soon after her mother's death, not with Ursula trying to reclaim the seas. And I can't help her. I'm not a merman, and asking me to breathe underwater is like asking the sun to rise in the west. So, it's nice to have a friend to keep me going, and I'll be honest, you being here helps me as much as I help you, I think."

Christopher nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He'd known they were friends, and he'd known that Ali was fond of him, and he'd stopped second-guessing their friendship, but he hadn't known that the other prince regarded him in such a light. Nobody ever relied on him. Nobody. Well, the toys did, and Chip had, but that was different.

This was just, well, friendship, and as messy as things were, he couldn't deny that it was nice.

"I'm sorry," he said. "So, what can I do to cheer you up tonight?"

"Right now, nothing. I plan on getting rather drunk and pretending my problems don't exist, and you told me you didn't like to drink on your first night here."

"No, I said I wasn't _allowed_ to drink, because my mother believed it was unbecoming of a prince. Believe it or not, I got tipsy on like two cups of when I was in Amoré, mostly because it was the first time I'd had more than a sip. And, well, I'd like to pretend my problems don't exist as well."

Ali studied him, frowning. "Look, I don't want you getting plastered just to keep me company. I have Rajah, and well, I'll not have it said I'm a bad influence."

"Ali," replied Christopher, shaking his head. "My kingdom is under the control of the witch who killed my father and sister, my girlfriend left me a month ago, my best friend is a teddy bear, I still have no control over my powers beyond my Dreamtouch, and if we want to dig deeper, I endured twenty years of bullying, emotional abuse, and constant humiliation. Believe me, nobody is going to blame you if I turn into a drunk."

Ali chuckled, rising from his seat and wandering across the table. Clapping him on the shoulder, the Prince of Agrabah smiled, offering him a hand. Somewhat confused, Christopher accepted it, nearly tripping over the billowing fabric of his trousers. He pursed his lips.

Even after a month, he wasn't quite used to the fashion of Agrabah, and the pants were the only thing he'd decided he was brave enough to try, and that was only because heat made most other types of pants horribly uncomfortable.

"If you're serious, then we're doing this right," said Ali, his eyes glinting with mischief. "And I can't carry enough for two, so you're helping me filch the stuff from the cellar."

"I can do that," said Christopher, stifling a laugh. It was true. Ali was a bit of a bad influence, because he'd honestly never have entertained the idea of getting sloshed with any of his other friends, but well, if he was entirely honest with himself, it was for the best.

Christopher Charming was tired of being forced into the role of perfect prince. He was imperfect and flawed, and he was a bit weird, but more than anything, he was rather sick of being the only innocent one around. And, who knew?

Perhaps a bit of bad might suit him, just a little.

* * *

"Are you certain? Your father warned you not to return to Corona, not until the danger has passed," said Alyssa, glancing at the maps sprawled across the desk.

Her husband had been at them with his quill for the better part of the evening, outlining his plan with an almost feverish zeal. Now, arrows and circles had been drawn in places, and to her slight amusement, he'd doodled what looked like a witch being burned at the stake in the corner above the compass rose. Not that she minded. If anyone deserved such a fate, it was Gothel.

"It is because of the danger that I have to return," said Cornelius, pursing his lips. His eyes glinted, and he slammed his fist down upon the desk. "My father says I need to stay in Arendelle. Nick says I should remain in Arendelle. Aunt Anna says I should remain in Arendelle. Everyone fucking says I should remain in Arendelle, but I can't, not when my mother is in chains and my father is fighting a war on two fronts."

"Cor, it's a precaution. You're the last of the Coronan royal family. You have no heirs, and if the worst should happen, you need to be away from the fallout," she reminded him, reaching out to grasp his hand in hers.

Whether he liked it or not, the truth had to be spoken. Gothel was a powerful witch and she had seized the capital, and all the forces of Eléadoré had been thrown against Corona. They had the fleet, but the seas were impassable, and even Nick was in no position to help. What remained of Arendelle's armies had been forced to make port in Badon, far to the south of the Imperium, or risk their vessels being sunk by the furious waves. In any plans they may make, Cornelius and she were alone, for there was no help to be had.

Agrabah was healing from their plagues, but Ali had replied to her letter stating that they were still in no shape to fight a war, especially given they were a kingdom without a navy. Christopher's kingdom was under Regina's rule and, for all intents and purposes, he was an exiled prince. King Eric's fleet was in Badon as well, and the merfolk of Atlantica had their own problems as Ursula tried to usurp control of the seas.

But, even if there was no aid, should her husband march to war, she would go at his side, even if he led her to the gates of hell. She had already failed her own kingdom, and Amoré had fallen to the nightmare… but she would not fail his.

"I have an heir," said Cornelius, gritting his teeth. "Unorthodox, perhaps, but we share great-grandparents, and he is well liked in Corona."

"He would rather have his cousin alive than another kingdom to rule," said Alyssa, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't intend to die," retorted Cornelius. "But if being the last of my line is what keeps me trapped here like a bird in a gilded cage, then I'll happily write out a will right now and name Nick as my successor should the worst happen. It's been a month, Alyssa, and Dad isn't making any headway. I need to return to Corona with my army, and I need to do so now."

"I know you don't intend to die," she said, raising her voice despite her attempt to remain calm. "But neither did Queen Elsa. People die in wars, and I've already nearly lost you, and I can't, I can't lose you, Cor… Call me selfish and call me weak, but I can't lose you after everything else I've lost, and I want to support you here, I do, and if you truly wish to go, I'll follow you, but…" she trailed off, her voice catching in her throat.

Rising to her feet, she smoothed her skirts as she began to pace the room. She was being selfish, and she knew it. He was staring at her with eyes as wide as saucers, and she was just piling more worries onto his shoulders by trying to stop him. He was more than her husband. He was a crown prince. He had his duties, and…

 _What would I do to let my parents dance just one more dance with me?_

The question echoed in her mind, and for the longest moment, silence reigned around her as she closed her eyes.

 _Anything. I'd do anything._

"We will leave for Corona within the week," she said, not turning to look at him. "We will take the land routes you've outlined, and we should arrive at the northern border within the month. We will take back your kingdom and we will see the witch burn, and when we're done, you will look me in the eye and tell me that you told me so, because that's what you always do."

Arms wrapped around her waist, and he held her, pressing his lips to the back of her neck, and she took a deep breath. For a moment, she had let her old selfishness nearly overtake her, and that was not what she wanted, not for them. Her thoughtless actions had brought the nightmare to Amoré, and she couldn't think about just herself, not anymore, not in this.

Because, Cornelius was more than her husband, just as she was more than his wife. He was a crown prince and she was a queen, and though her kingdom lay in ruins, there would come a day when it rose again. She had ignored her responsibilities, rushing in heedless to the cost of her folly, and all Amoré had bled.

She could not prevent Cornelius from fulfilling his, even if it hurt her to see him put himself in such a dangerous position.

"You're not going to lose me," he said, and she sank into his embrace. "And, you're not the only one who's worried. If I could, I'd have you remain here in Arendelle, but I know you well enough to know how unlikely that would be."

"Damn right," she replied, snorting despite the emotional gravitas of the situation. "You'd have to bind my hands and feet and leave me locked in Nick's dungeons, because that's the only way you'd get me to leave your side."

The tension lifted, just a little, and he chuckled, resting a hand upon her waist as she turned her head enough to kiss him. They were not the perfect couple they'd been when they first started dating. There were scars on their bodies and minds that had not been there when they'd first begun, and at times like this, they clashed. Their romance was not a bed of roses.

Yet, he was hers, and she was his, and that was enough.

"Then it's settled, he said, as they broke their kiss. "We're going home?"

"Yes," she replied. "We're going home."


	32. Night of Farewells

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven**

 **Night of Farewells**

* * *

"I'm sorry it's just the two of us," said Nick, a knowing smile on his face as he poured himself a glass of wine. "I had hoped to have the four of us together before you left, but well, Morgan seems to have come down with a sudden headache."

"Strange," said Cornelius, rolling his eyes. "Alyssa begged off as well. She's very tired, all of a sudden, and it's very suspicious."

"They think they're being very sneaky, don't they?" said Nick, suppressing the urge to chuckle.

"Oh, I think they know we know, but they'll simply pretend otherwise," replied Cornelius. "It's sweet, though. I've missed it being just the two of us, and even if the circumstances aren't the best, well."

Nick nodded, smiling. It had been his idea for the four of them to have dinner together before Cornelius and Alyssa left on their campaign, but it would seem that both their respective partners had other ideas. It was nice to just be alone with his cousin, to forget their respective duties and be the boys they'd once been. In many ways, those boys had changed, in some ways for the better and in others for the worse, but it didn't matter when he was with Cornelius.

They'd been friends since he was one and his cousin was two, and they'd been together ever since. Even with an ocean between them, they'd visited often, and their antics had been caused many a rolled eye and a half-hearted scolding from their parents over the years. Those days were behind them.

"I had the chefs make your favourite," said Nick, gesturing to the large bowl of spaghetti on the table. "I wish I could do more, I do, and you dropped everything and sailed here when I needed help, but…"

"No talk of the war," said Cornelius, waving a hand through the air. "I understand, and I know that if you had men to spare, you'd have sent them. I know. You're a king now, Nick. We knew. We always knew that one day, we'd have to put our own kingdoms before each other, and that day just came sooner than we'd like, but no more talk of the war. Let's just enjoy the evening."

Nick nodded, pursing his lips. It was true, as much as he didn't like it. He had no soldiers to spare, not with what was left of his mother's army still stranded in Badon, and what remained of his own so diminished by the Siege of Arendelle. He would go himself, as he had for Alyssa, but he was not a prince anymore… He was the king, and with the kingdom still reeling and the nobles still adjusting to his rule, prodding and poking and trying to grasp for what power they could in the vacuum created by both his mother's death and the rebellion of the Southern Isles, leaving Arendelle was simply impossible. Still, it hurt that he couldn't help his cousin with more than supplies and a few guides to help him navigate the frozen lands of Arendelle as they made their way overland.

Finally, swallowing, he took a sip of his wine, forcing himself to relax.

"How are you doing, then?" asked Nick. "The panic attacks? Have they been getting better?"

"They come and go," said Cornelius, sighing. "It's… I never know what's going to trigger one, and I hate it, I do, because it's crippling. Sometimes, it's just hearing the waves crash against the shore in the distance, and then other times it's rolling out of bed by accident… It's just… Look, I don't know, Nick."

Nick pursed his lips. They had all been scarred by Amoré, but Cor's scars were older and ran far deeper. His cousin had _died_ , and whilst Nick didn't quite understand why the panic was only manifesting now, he knew that the only thing he could do was simply be there for his cousin.

"Alyssa, she helps, and I don't know what I'd do without her, honestly," continued Cornelius. "The other night, I was washing my hair and she dropped something in the bedroom, and just hearing that crash had me thrashing about and panicking in the bloody tub. She was there within seconds, just holding me and talking me down, and she's still dealing with her own shit, but she's still there for me." He sighed, hanging his head. "I just… I want it to end, Nick, really. I don't want to go home and, as soon as the fighting's done, have to gear up for another war. I don't want to sound weak but, you know..."

"If anyone has any right to be tired, it's you, Cor," said Nick. "You're not weak. You're just human. And, you'll get through this because you're Cor, and what was it you always told me when we were kids? The sun always rises."

"I suppose," said Cornelius with a wan smile. "How about you? Are things… easier now?"

"No," said Nick, shaking his head. "Well, in some ways, yes. I can talk about Mum without wanting to cry anymore, so that's an improvement. In other ways… we were raised to rule, the both of us, but you're never truly ready. It's one thing after another until you want to scream, and I'm just doing the best I can. Honestly, I couldn't do it without Morgan. I just couldn't. It's work all day, but he's always waiting for me when I get back to our room, and he helps me unwind and just… it's a moment of peace, you know?"

"I know," said Cor, nodding. "Just having Alyssa hold me after a long meeting with my captains and generals is one of the most soothing things in the world. It's like… I can breathe freely when I'm with her." A slight smile curled across his cousin's lips, and Cornelius raised an eyebrow. "So, things have gotten that serious with Morgan, have they?"

Nick smiled. "Well, you know me, Cor. I'd never bed someone I don't intend to have a future with. I love him. We've been together for just a few months now, but when I'm with him, it's like we've known each other forever. It's… honestly something I thought I'd never have, but it's something I can't imagine my life without."

"So," said Cornelius, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "What's it like to bed a dragon?"

Nick spat out his wine. Dabbing himself with a napkin, he snorted, rolling his eyes in his cousin's direction. Trust Cornelius to change the topic and the mood with a single question, but… he couldn't help but laugh all the same. For years, his cousin had gotten a kick out of asking him awkward questions, and just that one line had been enough to bring a dozen fond memories racing to the front of his mind. The tension faded in him, and he smirked, thinking of how best to reply.

Then, he flung a snowball at his cousin's face. Sometimes, the simplest answer was always the best.

"Rude," said Cornelius, and his eyes glinted as a flare of light burst out of his fingers. Nick ducked his head, covering his eyes with his arm, and when he looked up, his cousin was holding a garlic roll, dripping with bolognese sauce.

"Ok, I give," said Nick hurriedly, holding his hands up in surrender. "Don't you dare throw that."

"Throw it?" asked Cornelius with a wink, taking a bite out of the garlic roll. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'd never." Setting the garlic roll down, he held his hands a few inches apart, and winked. "Seriously, though? I'm rather curious."

"Bigger." Nick snorted, rolling his eyes at his cousin. Had he been talking to anyone else in the world, a light blush would have already been colouring his cheeks, but this was Cornelius, his almost-brother. They'd grown up together, sharing everything, and letting the conversation stray to randier topics had been rather common once their hormones had kicked in a few years ago.

"Bloody hell," said Cornelius, looking rather wide-eyed.

Nick laughed, and then he sighed. It had been a nice distraction, but already, the worry was seeping back in. They could laugh and joke all they wanted, but it wouldn't change reality. Tomorrow, his cousin would be going to war, and Alyssa would be going as well. His mother had gone to war, and their parting had been light as well, but—

"Stop worrying, Nick. C'mon, we were just getting back to how we were during the good old days." said Cornelius, frowning. "Or do I have to fetch Morgan and have him stop your internal babbling?"

"You'd hardly want to watch how he stops my babbling," said Nick, catching himself after the words left his lips and feeling like clapping a hand to his brow. He needed to stop doing that. This was perhaps the fourth time he'd let something like this slip because his mind had been elsewhere. For once, however, Cornelius didn't laugh.

"Nick, listen to me, stop worrying about the war, please? I'm worried as well, and I'm scared, but we don't need to dwell on it. We don't. Now, stop being a worrier, or you'll go grey before your time."

"Hair's already white," said Nick, shaking his head. Rising from his seat, he walked across the dining room and slid open the divider, extricating the box he'd placed there earlier that day. It was a simple box, but it was what inside that mattered. Turning, he walked over to his cousin and handed it to him, not saying anything.

Looking confused, Cornelius opened the box, and his eyes widened at the sight of what lay within. A clear orb of ice shone, frigid to the touch, and within the orb swirled green fire, adding a strange heat to the ice. Yet, the orb did not melt, and indeed, it would likely never melt.

"I may not be able to come with you, and I may not be able send my troops, but I can still give you this. Well, it's from Morgan as well. My magic is much weaker without my staff, and his magic is very limited, but we've both poured in as much as we can. If you ever find yourself in need of aid, smash it, and the spell will activate."

"Nick…" Cornelius looked up, setting down the orb before rising and pulling him into a tight hug. There were a dozen emotions in that hug, and Nick returned it, clasping his cousin tightly before pulling away. "Is this why Morgan's been so out of sorts these past few days? And why you've been so pale?"

"I'm always pale," he said, perching on the end on the table. "But, yes, if you must know. It wasn't easy to craft such an orb without my staff, and it took a lot out of me. As for Morgan, I kept an eye on him to make sure he didn't push himself too far. But, you're worth it, and at least this way, we can help in some way."

"I don't know what to say," said Cornelius. "What does it do?"

"And spoil the surprise?" Nick's smile was faint. "I'll not jinx it, but there's enough magic in there to stop a small army."

For a long moment, nothing was said, and Nick found himself enjoying the rare moment of companionable silence with his cousin. It had been difficult to create the orb, more difficult than any spell he'd ever cast without a staff, but the late nights and pounding headaches would be worth if it saved his cousin's life in a time of need. He bit his lip. Without his staff, his power was a fraction of what it could be, and even his _snap_ upon realizing his mother had died had very nearly killed him.

When his father had found him next to Prince Hans' corpse, Jack Frost had been forced to pour his own magic into Nick, solely to keep his body from shutting down from the strain as the adrenaline faded. It had been a sobering experience, one he hadn't thought about given his mourning.

"My mother promised that she'd return home, and she didn't," he said softly, glancing down to squeeze Cornelius by the shoulder. "And so, no promises, and no jinxes. We're just going to go with the knowledge that you're going to be okay, you hear me, and that when this over, you and I are going to do something one of the things we always wanted to when we were kids but never got the chance to."

"I'd like that," said Cornelius, "Now, perhaps running away to be pirates isn't going to happen, but I've always wanted to try that one thing you always chickened out off."

"Visit the taverns of Agrabah so we can get drunk on snakeskin wine, smoke hookah, and hallucinate on cactus juice?" asked Nick, chuckling, "Well, if you want to, you'll just have to stay alive long enough for us to plan that trip, won't you?"

"Then I have something to look forward too," replied Cor, "Because drunk you is chatty, and I can only imagine what stoned you is like."

Nick laughed, because it could be the end of the world and everything could be crumbling down around them, but his cousin would never change.

* * *

"Thank you for tonight," said Cornelius, kissing his wife's shoulder. "I know you want to say goodbye to him as well, but thank you for giving us some time alone."

"I can say goodbye in the morning when he sees us off," replied Alyssa, a soft smile on her lips. "You needed the goodbye more than me."

Cornelius smiled as he ran his hands down her sides, leaning against her as he did so. Tomorrow, they marched for war, and the journey would be a long one. To reach Corona by land from Arendelle, he had to travel many leagues to the east before going south, and then he'd have to travel west again. In essence, the sea that lay between Corona and Arendelle had to be circled, and it would be a long and brutal march through the snow.

If luck was on his side, Uncle Jack would clear his way, but he doubted things would be that easy. The fleet itself would have to be abandoned here in Arendelle, but his men were eager to return home and join in the fighting, and he had several thousand soldiers under his command. If they travelled swiftly, they'd reached the border within a month, and he just had to trust that his father would be able to hold his position until then.

There was no telling how long it would be until he got the opportunity to sleep in a bed again, and honestly, he intended to make the most of it. Alyssa had liked the idea, and now all that lay between them were sheets, crumpled around their bodies as they sat up in bed, talking.

"I had something made for you, by the way," she said, drawing his interest. Climbing out of bed, she slipped into her gown before padding across the room and kneeling beside a trunk. Opening it, she drew out a sword. "In Amoré, I wielded your old sword to defend us against the Hollow Ones, and I'm sorry that I lost it there."

"It was just a sword," he replied, smiling as she returned to bed and presented him with his gift. "I'd rather I lost it rather than any of the people I cared about."

"Be that as it may, the longsword you've been using since doesn't suit you, and you did complain that it was too heavy compared to what you'd grown accustomed to," she said. "So, I spoke to Nick, and he told me that your old sword was Arendellian in design. The smith I spoke to was quite pleased to have a queen's patronage."

Cornelius looked at the sword in his hands, and he tested the weight. The leaf shaped-blade was doubled-edged, just as his old sword had been, and the hilt was rose gold. From each of the cross guards sprung a dozen golden roses, trailing around the pommel to shield his fingers, and the pommel itself was crowned with a diamond studded sunburst.

All in all, it was rather perfect. Yet, such a blade did not come cheap, and he knew that the honest truth of the matter was that his wife was the Queen of a country that had fallen, and she was skint broke in her own right. Despite this, she had not used a single penny from his coin pouch.

 _How had she…_

"A necklace and a pair of earrings," she said, tracing his collarbone with her fingers. "A gift from one of your dukes in response to our wedding announcement. They were pretty yet unnecessary. The only piece of jewellery I need is the ring you put on my finger."

"You didn't have to," said Cornelius. "You could have just told me, and I'd have taken care of it. What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine."

"Sweet words, when you have the world to give me, and all I can give you is my heart," she said. "Please, don't press this. Just say thank you and move on."

"Thank you," he said, slipping the sword into its sheath and propping it up against the nightstand. Reaching out to cup her cheeks, he pulled her in for a kiss, and he closed his eyes as her tongue slipped between his lips, her fingers tangling in his hair. "I love you, and I'd love you if you were a pauper, because your heart is all I need."

She smiled as he broke the kiss, and he was glad to see it. Her fire was returning, slowly but surely, and though it was still kindling, he had high hopes that soon, she'd have returned to her true self. His wife still walked with an air of sorrow, garbed in the tragedy of her kingdom, and yet, she had been his strength when he couldn't breathe, and his air when the water rose above his head.

"To think I didn't get you anything," he whispered. "If I'd known we were exchanging gifts before we leave, I'd have gotten you a matching rapier."

"You've already given me the best gift of all," she said. "I get to love you, and that's the best thing I'll ever do. And, as it turns out, rapiers don't take much steel. There was enough left over after forging your sword to forge a blade as good as the one my mother gave me when I turned thirteen."

He looked at her, his smile widening, and the world fell away. This, this was why he loved her, because she was both the beauty of Amoré, and the beast. She wore corsets as casually as she wore her armour, and she was soft as silk and hard as steel all at once. Perhaps their love story was not an easy one, or a normal one, and if an outsider looked it, they'd likely scratch their head in confusion.

Because, on the surface, they were two people who, by all rights, should have never fallen for each other. When they'd been children in the first stages of their friendship, they'd clashed often and bickered loudly, and more often than not, Nick had to come between them. Then, the bickering had turned to teasing, and the teasing had turned to him missing her when she was away, so much so that he'd gotten them a pair of two-way mirrors just to stay in touch.

And, their friendship had deepened, turning to love, and today, as he sat there with her, holding her in his arms and being held in turn, he couldn't help but feel that if he had the chance to do things differently, he'd change nothing, because everything had led him to her.

"Is it strange that, though there's a war in my kingdom and tonight is the last night we'll have before we leave for the battlefield, I'm not scared or worried, not now, because I'm with you?"

"No," she whispered, claiming his lips and drawing her down to their bed. "I'm not afraid either, not so long as I have you."

* * *

"Grim, isn't it?" said Jaq as he stared out across the plains. "Stormguard, the gateway to Somnia. Tsar Luna, I loathe this place. It's too close to Hamelin for my liking."

Lucile shivered, clutching her shawl around her at the mention of Cruella's domain. If the Godmother was good, her father would have put the woman down years ago, but Hamelin was not a place that many dared go, saved for the residents who couldn't leave. The Piper's influence was strong within the land, and all the armies of the world could march against him, and they'd all be grovelling at his feet should be play a single tune upon his flute.

Stormguard itself was little better. The walls were grey stone, hewn from the rocks of the surrounding mountains, and barbed metal spikes studded the battlements. In the days of old, the Rêveres were said to have mounted the heads of their enemies upon those spikes to warn the surrounding kingdoms to not cross them, but those days were long gone.

Still, she could not help but shudder at the thought. Somnia had always filled with a sense of foreboding, and King Philip was a cold man, easily the cruellest monarch to hold a seat upon the council. There were many rumours about him, and if even half of them were true, then it was no wonder his children were such monsters. Anthony was a vicious whoremonger, Leon was a sadistic freak, and Aurelia… the less said about Aurelia, the better.

Yet, Jaq and her had nowhere else to turn, not unless they wished to brave the ruins of Amoré, and by all accounts, that was suicide. Perhaps, had the situation been different, they'd have turned to Corona instead, but Tremaine had sent forth her armies, and the conflict was said to be brutal and bloody.

"We should make haste," she said, finally steadying herself. "The sooner we are away from Hamelin, the better."

Her brother nodded, and together, they began their approach towards Stormguard. The drawbridge was up, and the moat was thick and briny, filled by the nearby sea. If memory served, there were barbs beneath the water, ready to cut any invaders to shreds if they dared try to swim across. As they drew near, Jaq raised his cloak above his head, waving it like a flag, trying to get the attention of the guards who patrolled the walls.

"Jaq… I don't like this," she said, glancing around her as a sliver of unease wormed its way into her gut. "Something's wrong."

As she spoke, a dull creaking echoed through the air, and the drawbridge began to descend. Panic gripped her, and she was possessed with the sudden urge to turn and run. _Foolish, I am being foolish. These past weeks have frayed my nerves._ King Philip was their ally, and even if he was not the best man in the world, he was bound by his oaths to the council to give them shelter in their time of need.

A small band of knights came riding out of the gates, and Jaq moved to stand in front of her, resting his hand on the hilt of his glass sword. His eyes were wary, and she bit her lip as she realized who it was that was leading the knights.

His blond hair was stained pink, as it always was from the blood baths he took to keep his skin smooth and youthful, and his eyes were cold as chips of flint. Clad in black armor, he rode ahead of the knights, a smirk upon his lips, and he snorted as he reined in his horse.

"Princess Lucile," said Prince Anthony Rêvere. "Prince Jaq. We've been expecting you."

"Have you?" asked Jaq, and he nudged her in the side, a silent warning. "We have travelled in secret, and for all the world knew, we were as dead as our parents."

"Queen Tremaine sent word ahead that the two of you had survived the coup and fled," he replied, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "She has placed quite the bounty on your heads. Truly, I am surprised at how much gold you had in your vaults, given that the pair of you have always dressed like paupers."

"Our mother understood the virtues of frugality," said Lucile, not liking what she was hearing in the slightest. "A dress is a dress, be it a dress made of silk or a dress of cotton."

She glanced around, realizing that the knights had formed up around them, circling, and panic seized her. Jaq was breathing heavily in front of her, a sure sign that he was agitated, and in the distance, she could make out a second set of riders, forming a wide circle around them, cutting off all routes of escape. No… _We never should have come here._

"Be that as it may, my father has politely declined Tremaine's offer," said Anthony, his smirk deepening. "You may calm yourself, Princess Lucile. Why would we hand you two over to her? Gold? We have more than we will ever need in our lifetimes. Besides, you are both royals, and sadly, Queen Regina disposed of the Charming brats, which rather puts a kink in Father's plans."

"Plans?" asked Jaq, his voice tense as he moved, shielding her with his body. With twigs in his hair and rips in his clothes, he looked nothing like a prince, but even here, he was her knight, and she loved him for it, even as terror twinged at her heart.

"My sister needs a husband with a claim to the Eléadoréan throne," said another voice, and Lucile started. Her heart sank as she caught sight of Prince Leon, his dark crown gleaming upon his blond hair, and he wore a smirk as cruel as his brother's. "And, to make sure nothing happens, it's always nice to have a spare."

"Enough of this japery," she snapped, her temper finally breaking. A threat to her own person she would tolerate, but never, never would she allow her brother to be bartered off like a horse. She was not a violent person, but had Prince Leon not been on his horse, she was certain she'd have slapped him.

"Prince Leon. Prince Anthony. I am the rightful queen of Eléadoré, and by the laws that bind the council, I demand to see your father, and I demand the right of sanctuary for my brother and myself. Have a care for how you speak, for I will not tolerate such an insult as the one you have just levelled against us again."

She glared, her chest heaving as she fought to control her temper, and Jaq's fingers curled around her wrist, both comforting her and warning her not to push this. And, then, to her surprise, Prince Anthony laughed in her face. He threw back his head, chortling with mirth, and spittle burst from his lips.

"The council's dead," said Prince Leon. "Lady Mulan and General Shang went down in the Imperium. Queen Elsa and Queen Ariel as well. They say that Queen Merida has sealed off DunBroch, and that King Hiccup has withdrawn to Berk. Renvale and Amoré have fallen, and so has your own kingdom. And, soon, it will be time for Corona's final bow. What power does the council have now?"

"Agrabah? Don't make us laugh. Their kingdom is still on its knees after the plagues. Atlantica? Queen Aquaria has her hands full with Ursula, and Aquitania? Please, haven't you heard the news? King Eric's fallen into a deep state of depression after his wife died and his son ran off," finished Prince Anthony. "The council is dead. Somnia is all that remains, and we make the laws now."

Anthony raised a hand into the air, and purple flames swirled around his fingers. Lucile's eyes widened as Jaq raised his sword, and then Leon was raising his hand as well, and a gleaming orb of black-purple energy appeared in his palm.

"You will lay down your weapons and come with us," said Anthony. "Or you will be taken."

 _Tsar Luna, protect us,_ Lucile thought, and she moved to raise her arms above her head in surrender. Her brother couldn't fight this many, and getting themselves hurt would accomplish nothing.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Jaq had lashed out, his sword cutting through the nearest knight and passing through him like it wasn't even there. The knight's eyes widened as he collapsed, his eyes growing blank, and Lucile bit her lip as she kept as close to Jaq as possible.

Her brother's sword was magical, and it didn't cut flesh or, really, anything off this world. It slashed through your soul, cleaving it from your body, and it could never hurt a person unless they had ill intent in their hearts.

A second later, the flames were whirling in their direction, and Jaq had raised his sword into the air. The glass shone like diamonds as it absorbed the flames, and she was screaming without meaning to as he swept his sword around them, releasing the fire back at the knights.

"Luce, run," he yelled, and he had her by the wrist, and they were running as fast as their legs could carry them. Horses reared and neighed, panicked by the flames, but Prince Leon was already after them, flinging a blast in their direction. Jaq yanked her out of the way, but he was gaining on them. The distraction wouldn't last. The rest of the knights would be after them in seconds, if they hadn't already taken off after their prince.

A second blast nearly took off her head, and it exploded into the ground, leaving a small crater in its wake. She shrieked, and then Jaq's fingers slipped from hers and her brother was turning, raising his sword and planting his feet in the ground.

"Jaq!"

"Luce, go! They want me alive, remember."

And, may Tsar Luna forgive her, but she ran. Magic flared through the air, and as she ducked into the treeline, she heard her brother yell, but she dared not look back. If she did, she'd stop running away, and she'd rush back to his side, and then his sacrifice would be in vain. _They wanted him alive. I was the spare. He'll be okay. He has to._ She tried to reassure herself and failed, and the tears streamed down her cheeks as she leapt over a stray root and forced herself to run faster.

Her vision was blurred with tears, and when she slammed into someone, she screamed. Hands grasped her by the wrists, and she shook herself, trying to clear her eyes. _Tsar Luna…_ They'd found her. Jaq's stand had been for nothing. Fury welled up in her, and she dug her nails into the arms of her attacker, deep and hard enough to draw blood.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she froze, because she _knew_ that voice.

"Prince Caspian?" she said, recoiling. "What are you doing here? Please, we have to go back. You have magic, don't you. You have to help Jaq. Please."

"I'm so, so sorry, Lucile," he said again, and her heart sank.

* * *

Training with Christopher was very cathartic, despite his friend's complete and utter lack of any combat ability. To most, it would probably seem like a chore, but Christopher was nothing if not resilient, and no matter how many time he found himself flat on his back, he always got back up. He wasn't out of shape, which Ali found surprising, and he was somewhat flexible, so there was no risk of him pulling anything when they really got into it.

Ali smiled as he raised a hand to catch Christopher' punch, and he whirled out of the way, swinging Christopher around with him. To his surprise, for the first time since they'd begun all those weeks ago, Christopher kept his balance, and he wrenched his hand out of Ali's grasp. Then, a fist came flying at his head, and Ali ducked, jabbing out and catching Christopher in the gut, knocking him off his feet.

No, what made these sessions cathartic wasn't that he got to spar with someone who was very unskilled. It was that he could see Christopher improve with every session, and it filled him with an almost strange sense of pride.

"So," he said, reaching out to help his friend to his feet. "Call it a day?"

"I can go a few more rounds," said Christopher, taking a few deep breaths. "We don't need to quit early today."

"Can't go all-out seven days a week, Chris," he said, shaking his head. "Just the warm up was good enough for today, and now you need to take a day to just let your body relax or you will strain yourself."

"I'm fine," said Christopher, a slight frown on his face. "I said it before we started, and I've said it since, but I'll say it again. I can keep up, so don't go easy on me."

"Chris." Ali sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, I need a break. Nick and Cor don't train every day either, and none of us ever have, because you _need_ a rest period. Even Alyssa, for all her beastly endurance, doesn't train everyday. So, trust me on this. Let's call it a day, and we'll continue… not tomorrow, but the day after."

He didn't want to let it show, but he _was_ sore. He'd barely healed from his cursed illness before rushing off to Amoré with the other princes, and then he'd barely healed from that fight before returning to Agrabah and throwing himself into training with Christopher, because he knew how much his friend was looking forward to it. Yet, even he couldn't go on forever, and he needed some time to relax and work the tension out of his body. The past months had not been easy on him, and he'd taken quite the beating in Amoré, first from Gaston, then from the army of Hollow Ones, and finally from Odile herself.

"I'm sorry," said Christopher, 'I didn't think. It's just, for the first time, I actually feel like I'm not useless, you know? I'm learning, and I'm actually getting good, and I never managed that in Renvale. I guess I got carried away."

"You've never been useless, Chris," said Ali, raising an eyebrow. "Useless people don't fling themselves onto the back of a Tsar Luna forsaken Faceless and stick a knife in the bloody thing's chest. You saved my life there, you know? And useless people don't survive two weeks in woods crawling with Hollow Ones. And, most importantly, useless people don't reveal their inner badass by taking down an entire army. Granted, that almost killed you, but the point still stands."

Christopher flushed, and Ali smiled as he clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. Now that they were making headway into his friend's combat abilities, it was about time they started working on his self-esteem. There was no denying that the Prince of Renvale was coming out of his shell, slowly but surely, as their night of drinking away the pain could attest to, but there were still moments like this when it wouldn't hurt to pick Christopher up, if only by reminding him that he had accomplished things some people could only dream of doing.

"Thanks Ali," said Christopher. "So, what are we doing today, then?"

"Well, first we need to bathe, because we worked up quite the sweat. Then, I was thinking that we could maybe have a night out in the city. It's been ages since I've visited my favourite clubs, and they all miss their prince's patronage."

"Clubs?" asked Christopher, biting his lip. "Yeah, I don't really dance. Or loosen up in public. Or really like being out in public where everyone can see me."

"Well, you're coming," said Ali, wagging his finger in his friend's direction. "I actually have an ulterior motive, you know." He winked, knowing this would be fun. "I have a friend who's back in town for a while, and I figured I'd introduce the two of you."

There, that was the reaction he'd been hoping for. Christopher was looking at him as if he'd just taken leave of his senses, and it was quite fun to see the mental gymnastics at work as his friend tried and failed to come up with a way of getting out of this new adventure.

"Please tell me you're not trying to set me up with one of your former flings," said Christopher finally, still looking rather aghast.

"I mean it when I say _friend,"_ said Ali, rolling his eyes. "And relax. There's never been anything between Jess and I, and I'm not trying to set you up either. She'll eat you alive, to be honest."

"Then why do you want me to meet her? How about you go visit your friend, and I'll do some sketching in my room, because honestly, I'd actually have a need to relax from going to a club or tavern with you."

"Well, I'd hoped that Aquaria would be able to visit and give you some pointers on magic, but her plate is a little full right now. And, well, I don't have any powers, but Jess… she's a witch and she knows her stuff, so I figured she might be able to help you figure out your Dreamtouch?"

Christopher looked torn, and Ali sighed. He knew his friend wanted to figure out how he'd done what he'd one in Amoré and explore the full extent of his magic, which until that point, had always apparently been purely tactile in nature. Yet, this was weighed against an unfamiliar setting, and Christopher was only now getting comfortable enough to explore the world outside himself, if that made any sense.

"Tell you what," said Ali. "I usually get a private room when I go out anyway, because the last things my citizens need is to see some of the things their future Sultan gets up to, so you can chill in there for the entire night, even when I go off to dance for a while. It'll be fun, and you can chat to her about your magic, so win-win?"

"Okay," said Christopher, nodding yet still looking uncertain. "I'll just trust in you and hope I escape this evening with some dignity left."

"Drama king." Ali rolled his eyes, and then winced as his friend gave him a good-natured punch in the shoulder.

* * *

The Desert Jewel was one of the posher establishments in Agrabah, and as far as Jessica West was concerned, it was filled with overpriced drinks and scantily clad dancers, most of whom wouldn't know a real party if it hit them over the head with a brick. The dance floor was wreathed in the smoke of a dozen hookah pipes, the booths were overflowing with patrons, and there was a crowd at the bar. Considering the struggles the kingdom had just underwent, she'd have expected things to be quieter, but then again, this was Agrabah, the city that never slept.

Making her way through the room, she headed straight for the door to the corner, hidden by a set of screens. Her boots clicked against the smooth floors, and she rolled her eyes. How anyone could dance on these was beyond her. Still, of all the cities and kingdoms she'd visited in her time, there was no denying that Agrabah was her favourite.

A burly guardsmen came into her line of sight, holding out a hand to stop her, and without a word, she dug around the pocket of her skirt for her pendant. It had been a gift from Ali, years ago, and it bore the royal crest, a surefire way of getting anyone in Agrabah to stand aside and let her through. Raising it, the guard's expression shifted, his narrowed eyes widening, and she refrained from rolling her eyes again. If she kept doing that, she'd likely strain them.

"You are a friend of Prince Ali?" he croaked, looking her up and down.

She scoffed. True, with her brown hair pulled into a high ponytail, mid-length skirt, form fitting blouse and ruby-red boots, she didn't look like the type of woman to be acquainted with a prince, even one as reckless and carefree as Ali. Still, she'd been practically a princess in her own realm, though that life was long gone. As soon as the thought came to mind, she shoved it aside.

No, she would not think of Oz. Not now, not ever. There was no going back, and she wouldn't want to even if she could.

"Surprising, isn't it?" she asked. "Now, step aside."

The guardsman balked and moved out of the way, and he held the door open as she made her way through. A girl could get used to this, she thought, and then she raised an eyebrow. Ali was strewn across chaise lounge, a bottle in his hands and a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Another man, about his age, sat on a nearby armchair, looking rather uncomfortable as he sipped his drink.

This must be the Prince of Renvale. Well, she hadn't known what she'd expected, but this wasn't it. The brunet man was clad in the flowing harem pants of Agrabah, but unlike Ali, he wore slippers and a rather loose shirt. A bit on the pale side, and he was taller than her by a head, but to be honest, he didn't seem the type to have magic, and definitely not the kind of magic Ali had described in his letter.

"Jess, you made it," exclaimed Ali, and she rolled her eyes, realizing her was already rather drunk. Hopping to his feet, he hurried over to her and pulled her into a hug, which was a little too tight for her liking. _I forgot he was a hugger._

"Ali," she said, a faint smile colouring her lips. "You haven't changed at all."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Ali, winking. "Oh, this is Christopher, Prince of Renvale, and my current houseguest. Christopher, this is Jessica West."

"It's nice to meet you," said Christopher, though he still looked rather ill at ease. "I'd rise to greet you, but well, this is stronger stuff than I'm used to, and I don't trust myself to remain upright."

"I prefer informality," said Jess, slipping out of Ali's hug and perching on the end of a loveseat. Pouring herself a cup of snakeskin, her eyebrow disappeared into her brow. Trust Ali to purchase the strongest stuff in all his kingdom, and not just a single bottle of it.

"Well, now you two know each other, I'm off to dance, because I'm bored, and you two can work on your mystical mumbo-jumbo," said Ali, and before she could object, he was out the door. For a second, she closed her eyes to gather herself, and then she turned to Christopher.

"He really hasn't changed," she said, a fond smile on her lips. "Well, what can you do?"

"He's changed," said Christopher, and she frowned at the seriousness in his tone.

Deciding to drop the subject, she brought the cup to her lips, and she opted to dive right in. She didn't intend to remain in Agrabah long, and time waited for nobody. If they were going to sort out the prince's magical situation, then they'd have to work quickly. Now, hopefully, he wasn't utterly useless, and honestly, she really wouldn't be doing this if Ali had offered to pay her for her time

Hey, she was a busy girl who liked to travel, and passage across the seven seas didn't pay for itself.

"So, from what I've gathered, you have specialised magic," she said. "Power over dreams and sleep, is that right?"

"Specialised magic?" He looked confused, and she sighed. _Tsar Luna, not another one._ "Look, all I can do is knock a person out with a touch by forcing a dream into their head. I've been able to project it out without touching, true, but I nearly died."

"That's called a lack of practice," she said, rolling her eyes. "Anyone with magic can kill themselves if they push too hard too soon. Now, let's take this from the top. Magic is what I do. It's not specialised. I can do whatever I want, so long as I have the right spell and the right amount of energy to work the spell. Now, you, have a gift, which is magic, but it's tied to a sphere of influence. Like, Queen Elsa's ice, for example. In your case, it's dreams, am I right?"

"I guess?" he said, still looking incredibly confused, and then he sighed. "Look, I'm happy you're helping out, okay, but I don't know you and I'm not good with other people, and you're making me uncomfortable."

Well, that threw her for a loop. What was she supposed to do now? She was here to teach and then move on, not get to know him and all that nonsense. He didn't even seem that interesting, and he was hopelessly confused at what had been her most simple explanation on the subject. Then, she sighed. She didn't want to be a bitch, and more than anything, she didn't want to seem wicked. And, she did like helping people for the most part, and Ali had asked her to do this as a personal favour, and he'd been good to her in the past.

It wouldn't kill her to try a different tactic with Christopher.

"Okay, we'll start with magic in the morning," she said. "Would it make it easier if we just got to know each other a bit, so that you'd be more comfortable working with me?"

"That might be nice," he said. "Errr, I'm Christopher Floréte Charming, Prince of Renvale, and—"

 _Wow, he wasn't kidding about being uncomfortable with other people_ , she thought, cutting him off by raising a hand. "I know that already," she said. "How about something else. My birthday is on the twenty-sixth of June. I'm nineteen. What about you?"

"I'm twenty, and my birthday is on the first of August," he said.

"Two weeks away? Any plans?" See, this was easy, she told herself. She could be personable if she wanted to.

"Probably going to have dinner with Ali and his parents after a day of sparring," he replied. "I don't do birthdays. Never had a good one, so why start now?"

"Everyone has a good birthday, especially a royal," she replied, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. For the Godmother's sake, he was the prince of Renvale, and he'd probably had the most elaborate birthdays in the world. Honestly, she couldn't tell if he was being defeatist or moody.

"Well, a particularly fun one was when I turned fourteen," he said, and his eyes glinted with something strange. "I had my head stuck in a toilet by someone I'd hoped to make friends with, and then when my mother found me crying in my room, she had me dress as a jester since I was so content to play the fool, in her opinion, of course. It was rather fun, and a really good memory, especially when she gave me a set of balls at dinner and had me perform for our guests."

"Holy shit," she said, eyes widening. Well, she'd pushed, so it was no surprise that he'd pushed back, but she'd thought her own mother had been a nightmare. At this point, she was at a loss for words, because how did somebody respond to something like that, and more importantly, now she felt bad. What had Aunt Glinda always said? Never judge a book by its cover.

"Yeah," he said, leaning back in the armchair and bringing the cup to his lips, making a face as he downed it in one. "I don't do birthdays."

"So… what about a topic that's less prickly? Are you seeing anyone?"

"I _was_ , but if you want to avoid a prickly topic, my dating life is thornier than a rose bush," he said, raising an eyebrow. "What about you?"

"Me?" She laughed. "I don't have time for such nonsense. I could have a boyfriend or I could visit the dragon hatcheries of Berk, or walk the Great Wall of the Imperium, or go swimming in the Summer Sea. I don't like being tied down in one place."

"That's interesting," he said, though she could tell he was still slightly thrown by her. "So, you've travelled the world, have you?"

"I've been as far as Oceania in the far south and Santoff Claussen in the north, and I'm actually here in Agrabah after visiting the Pride Lands to the south of the continent. It's a love place, but I do like to keep on my feet. It's always fun to see new things."

And, they talked for what felt like hours,until at last Ali came stumbling back into the room with a crown of flowers on his head and his braid around his neck like a scarf. She exchanged a look with Christopher, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you sure he's changed?" she asked, getting to her feet and helping Ali to the nearest seat. A second later, the prince was rushing away from her, and the sound of retching filled the air as Ali stuck his head into a large decorative urn.

"Well, he's changed in ways that matter," said Christopher, and there was a fond smile on his face as he wandered over to his friend's side. Holding Ali's braid out of the way so that no puke got on it, he patted the prince on the back. "And you, I told you not to drink that."

"Go away," groaned Ali. "You're judgey tonight."

Jess looked on, raising an eyebrow. She didn't care what was being said, because as far as she was concerned, Ali was still the rambunctious prince he'd been when they'd met and he'd made a move on her. She'd shot him down, of course, and they'd somehow become friends ever since, mostly because he wasn't used to being turned down and wanted to know why, and she had never met someone so bloody persistent.

And, as for Christopher… He wasn't as boring as she'd first assumed, and that was all she had to say on the matter.


	33. A Bird in a Gilded Cage

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight**

 **A Bird in a Gilded Cage**

* * *

" _You cannot win,"_ said a silky voice in the back of Cornelius' mind. " _Your journey will only end in ruin."_

Cornelius shook himself, urging the voice to remain silent. Since word of Corona's fall had reached him all those weeks ago, the voice had been as present as his worries, but it only made itself known when he was alone. Truly, he must be going mad, he thought. His frequent panic attacks had left him unhinged, and the stress he'd been under had not been helpful.

" _You know the truth, Prince Cornelius. You cannot defeat Gothel."_

"I can," he replied, glancing around to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping on his moment of lunacy. It felt strange to talk to himself, but the icy chuckle that echoed in the depths of his mind was darker than anything he thought he could conjure. _I'm tired_ , he thought, _and not in my right mind._ That was all it was. That was all it could be.

" _You cannot save your mother. You cannot save your father. They will both die, as will all of Corona. You cannot win."_

Cornelius shook his head before drawing closer to the fire and holding out his hands to warm them. It was a terrible time of year to travel in Arendelle, yet what other choice did he have? What choice did he have in any of this. None. None at all. He was the prince of Corona, and he could not sit idly by whilst his kingdom came to ruin, and nor could he abandon those who had put their faith in him. Yet, the voice was insistent and, more often than not, in these quiet moments, Cornelius found himself believing it.

"My Lord?" a voice asked, and Cornelius turned, stifling a sigh of relief as he caught sight of one of his captains standing behind him with two bowls of stew in hand. His stomach growled, but the sight of food was not what calmed him. Instead, it was the reminder that there were other people present and that he was not alone. The voice never troubled him when he was with someone. Not ever.

"Any word from the front?" he asked, accepting the bowl of stew and gesturing for Captain Crox to sit beside him.

"Yes, my lord," said Captain Crox, worrying at his lip. "But, it is news that concerns Queen Alyssa. Perhaps it would be best to wait for her to rejoin us?"

"You will be waiting until morning," said Cornelius, sparing a glance to the full moon rising above them. "My wife has retired for the night with her _ailment_ , and her potion will keep her asleep until the sun rises."

Captain Crox nodded as understanding seemed to dawn, and he scratched at his coarse beard. For a long moment, neither of them said a word, and the world was silent save for the clatter of their spoons against their bowls and the hushed murmurs of the soldiers in the background. Then, when it grew to much to bear, Cornelius cleared his throat, urging the man to speak.

"Well, the news is that there is a second army cutting off the capital from your father's position at Sommersea," said Captain Crox, looking troubled. "Mercenaries, by the sound of it, but from what we've heard of their leader… there are few in this world as unique as he, if we are to speak frankly."

"If we are to speak frankly, I'd urge you to come out with it and speak plainly," said Cornelius, ignoring the vice tightening around his heart at the news of another army entering the fray. "Who is this mysterious man and why does his presence concern my wife?"

"The thing is, My Lord," said Captain Crox. "By all accounts, the leader of the mercenary army is a Romani, and his sigil is that of a goat's head. They say he speaks with an…"

"Amoréan accent," supplied Cornelius, closing his eyes and rubbing at a temple. "I did wonder what became of General Silvanus and his men after King Adam deployed them to aid the fighting in the Imperium." Even as he said the words, he clenched his fist. Was it not enough that Eléadoré was against them whilst Gothel stirred his own lords into rebellion? Must he contend with his the survivors of Amoré as well?

Even as he thought, he wondered why this was the first time he'd heard of their survival. The news of his marriage to Alyssa had circled all of Corona, as had the news of her survival, and whilst it may not have reached the distant corners of the world, it was not a secret. If General Silvanus was indeed still loyal to Amoré, he'd have sent word to Alyssa by now… but he had not.

"I will speak to Alyssa," said Cornelius, taking a deep breath. "Forgive me, Captain Crox, but I feel a strong headache coming on. If you could leave me for the night and deliver the rest of your report tomorrow morning before we break camp?"

"As you wish, My Lord," said Crox, rising to his feet and inclining his head before departing.

For a long time, there was silence. Cornelius hung his head, poking at the fire with a stick and throwing up sparks, and he had never felt quite so tired in his life. Then, from the deepest recesses of his mind, the voice echoed,

" _Are you still certain you can win, Prince of the Dawn, without first accepting the deal that was offered?"_

* * *

Her prison was a beautiful one.

Lucile looked around the bedroom, hugging her legs to her body as she did so. The walls had been painted a rich shade of burgundy, with golden latticework on two of the walls. The furniture was teak and looked to be hand carved, and it had been polished until it gleamed beneath the chandelier, from which hung a hundred glass tears. It was as though the person who had decorated the room had cared only for the price tag, and in truth, it simply looked exorbitant and tacky.

She shook herself, wondering why she was letting her mind wander to such things, and she sighed. The truth of the matter was that it helped her take her mind of everything that was wrong, because if she let herself think about Jaq, even for a moment, then she'd break like her mother's glass slipper. It was strange, in a way, that she was not worried for herself, even if her situation was dire.

No, all her concern was aimed towards her brother, her knight in shining armour, who even now languished in the dungeons of Somnia… or worse. She bit her lip, feeling tears well in her eyes. No, she could not think that. He was alive, and when she found her way back to him, he'd be fine. He had to be.

There was a sharp knock on her door, and she looked up as it swung open, gathering her skirts around her and steeling her features. Prince Caspian walked in, and not for the first time, she was possessed with sudden rage upon catching sight of his face. Curse him, and curse his black heart. He could have helped her. He could have helped her brother. Instead, he'd left Jaq to fend for himself and he'd dragged her to Hamelin, kicking and screaming, and he'd thrown her into this room.

If she believed it would help, she would slap him.

"Princess Lucile," he said in a hollow voice. "Master Damon is rather upset that you've been leaving your meals untouched. Please eat. Please. He doesn't like it when his pets disobey him."

"I am not his _pet_ ," she said, and if looks could kill, Caspian would already be decomposing. The gall of it all. If he wanted to betray the council and everything they stood for to serve Damon De Vil in whatever sick games they engaged in, that was his business, but it was not hers. It would never be hers.

"Please, Lucile," he whispered, and his eyes were like shattered glass. Warily, he looked behind him, as though making sure nobody was there. "Please. He'll hurt you… worse than he's hurt me."

Lucile sucked in a breath, and for the first time since her imprisonment had begun, she truly took him in. Caspian had always worn his hair black, dyed to emulate his father's natural colour, but his red roots were showing, and if memory served… the Prince of the Waves had always been a vain creature, and that wasn't something he'd normally allow.

His expression was drawn and pained, and there was a collar around his neck, so tight that it must chafe horribly at his skin. The shirt he wore exposed his arms, and those were covered in raised welts, and when she glanced at his legs, and that dark spot on his trousers, just over his thigh… that could only be blood. All at once, realization overcame her, and she felt as though a tight hand had clenched over her heart.

"You are as much a prisoner as I am, aren't you?" she said, shaking her head. "Caspian, what has he done to you?"

"Nothing that I didn't bring upon myself," said Caspian, gnawing at his lip as the colour drained from his face. Swiftly, he walked across the room, but with every step, he shot a look over his shoulder, and she did not imagine the terror in his eyes.

His voice dropped to a whisper as he stood at her bedside, and in a rushed jumble of words, he said: "I can't disobey him. I can't. His magic… Lucile, it's like a curse and I can't fight it. I can't. I try and I try, but I can't do anything. I don't know how you can keep your mind when he tries it on you, and he's curious, so he hasn't done anything yet because he wants to study you, but if you disobey him, he'll hurt you. Please, please just eat."

"I will not be his plaything," she said gently but the steel was present in her voice. "My own magic shields me, somehow, and I will not give in to that monster. I would rather die, Caspian. I know what the De Vils do to those who displease them, but if I die, I'll die with my dignity."

"He won't kill you. He won't," whimpered Caspian. Then, he stiffened, letting out a choked sob. "He'll do things that will you wish you were dead. He's calling me. I have to go. Please, just eat."

As if pulled by an invisible string, Caspian left the room, and the locked clicked behind him. For a long moment, Lucile stared after him, and she had never felt more shaken in her life, even if she tried not to let it show on her features. It was said that the walls of the chateau had eyes, and she wouldn't let anyone watching see her break down.

But… Caspian… she'd known him all her life, even if they'd met sparingly, as had most princes and princesses, and he'd always been an uncouth, shameless boy, and he was wild and cruel, sometimes viciously so. Jaq had wanted to break his nose the last time he'd visited Eléadoré, and she had agreed that he'd deserved it.

She'd never seen him so, for want of a better word, broken, and that terrified her. Caspian commanded the tempest itself, and yet, Damon De Vil had snapped him like a twig. If her captor could do that to a prince as powerful as Caspian, a merman with the blood of the gods running through his veins, then what could he do to her?

The thought made her shudder.

 _He won't kill you. He'll do things to you that make you wish you were dead._

Lucile wanted to be angry at him for bringing him here. She wanted to be furious at him for abandoning her brother… but she couldn't. His words haunted her, because she could already imagine the horrors that he'd endured, and it was not something she wished to dwell on for too long.

Climbing off the bed, she took a deep breath and walked towards the table beside the window. The view was beautiful, but all of Hamelin was like a golden apple, gorgeous to behold yet rotten at the core. Taking a seat at the chair, she studied the cold plate of food that had been left for her that morning, knowing the servants would be coming to collect it soon.

Slowly, hesitantly, she ate.

* * *

Padding through the chateau, he tried to ignore the chafing of the collar against his skin as Damon tugged at his leash, walking him as though he was a dog. It was demeaning and humiliating, but he couldn't resist, not with his mind so drenched in Damon's magic. If he had his powers, he'd be out of this in a thrice, but he'd been forbidden from calling on his storm, and Damon's word was the law.

He swallowed as he realized where he was being led. _Lucile's room._ Tsar Luna, he'd tried to help her, and he'd done his best to keep Damon's attention away from her, but it would appear that his _master_ was no longer allowing distractions to stand in his way. He wanted to speak, to try and say something that could get Damon to turn around and head the other way, even if it meant he'd be forced to endure another round of Damon's sadistic touch, but his tongue felt glued to the roof off his mouth.

Talking was not allowed, not unless Damon said it was fine to do so. His master was quite displeased with him having gone to Lucile to get her to eat, and so he'd been forbidden from talking altogether. His mouth, Damon had said, was good for only one thing, and it was not communication. A shudder ran through Caspian's back, and he squirmed, feeling bile rise to this throat. _Better me than her_.

Caspian wasn't quite sure why he was going out of his way to help Lucile Charmant, but to be honest, he knew that it wasn't because it was her in particular. He knew the type of person he was. He had a small addiction to hallucinogenic potions, and he was an alcoholic. He slept around indiscriminately, and it didn't matter if his partners were in a relationship or not. He'd been with married men and married women, and with the sons and daughters of those men and women, and could honestly say that he'd never really given a shit in regards to the chaos he left in his wake. He gambled away his father's gold, and he disappeared for weeks at a time, chasing some new adventure and not caring for his worried parents back home.

He was selfish. He was petty. He was a bully. In all honesty, he was Tsar Luna forsaken cunt.

Yet, at the end of the day, he'd like to think that, somewhere in the depths of his black heart, he was somewhat of a good person. It didn't matter that it was Lucile who was in danger of being defiled by Damon's games. He'd have done the same had it been Alyssa or Margaret, or any of the other princesses he knew. He'd have done it even if it was a lowborn girl that he didn't know.

Nobody, and he meant nobody, deserved the tortures Damon could inflict.

And, he felt responsible for her being here. When Damon had let him loose with express instructions to find her and bring her back to the chateau, he'd tried to fight the command. He'd tried until his head ached and his body was slick with sweat, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break Damon's magic. It was like a tight noose around his brain, refusing to budge even an inch, and if he tried to pull away, it just tightened.

"You're a good fishy, aren't you, Caspian?" asked Damon, turning to pet him on the head. "In fact, you've been so good, that I've decided to give you a little prize."

His eyes glinted, and lead pooled in Caspian's gut. Whatever misgivings he'd had were now doubled, and he wanted nothing more than to run and hide. Yet, he couldn't move, not without a verbal order, and in that moment, he was jealous of Lucile. She was a prisoner, like him, but she had a comfy bedroom and her free will, whilst he was a prisoner in his own body.

Reaching up, Damon opened the bedroom door without knocking, and he strode in, dragging Caspian after him. The skin upon his throat chafed, and he felt wetness trickle down his chest. _Bleeding, again..._

Lucile was sitting at the desk, perfectly composed and without a hair out of place. If she was scared, she did not show it, and the look she gave him was pitying. _I don't want your pity_. That just made it worse.

"Damon," she said, raising a delicate eyebrow. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Lucy, Darling," he said, his eyes glinting as he took a seat on Caspian's back, using him like a stool. "How I long to wipe that steadfast look from your face. Perhaps I shall. You have beautiful eyes, has anyone ever told you that? I love symmetry myself, but heterochromia is a strange quirk I find quite appealing. Would you like to see my collection? I keep their eyes after I bed them. Maybe I can keep yours as well. Wouldn't that be lovely? I've just gotten a letter from King Philip, a reply to the terms I offered him."

"Terms?" she said, looking cautious.

"He is willing to pay double what Tremaine is offering," said Damon. "As a matter of interest, I asked if he'd like Caspian as well, and well…" He drew a folded letter from his pocketed and, opening it, he put on a dramatic voice as he read out loud, "I care not one whit for the merman, but I will have the princess, and more importantly, her claim."

Damon smirked, and Caspian felt like he'd just been kicked. He hadn't expected anything, and yet he was still disappointed. He knew he wasn't important to King Philip… but he was still a prince, and Somnia was bound to the council.

"The beautiful part, really," continued Damon, "Is that all he needs is proof of fertility, because if you can't give one of his sons an heir, well, you're just useless, aren't you." He giggled, and Lucile grew pale at his insinuation. "Breed her like a mare for all I care, and then hand her over for your gold. You can keep the brat. I just want her."

Caspian felt like vomiting, and Lucile's expression cracked. Her eyes were wide and panicked, like a deer at the end of a hunter's bow, and he met her eyes, feeling terror pool in the depths. _Say something, you fool, change the topic._ Yet, he couldn't speak, and it hurt… everything hurt.

"I am a young woman in perfect health," said Lucile, and though her voice was strained and higher than usual, it did not waver. "There is no need for such action to be taken on your part, Damon."

"Heavens, but there's all the need." Damon licked his lips, and he hopped to his feet, cocking his head to the side. His eyes were wild as he kicked out behind him, catching Caspian in the face with the heel of his boot, and he laughed, throwing back his head as he clutched at his sides.

Caspian groaned, and his jaw throbbed. Hands bunched up in his hair, yanking him to his feet, and Damon dragged him forward before flinging him in Lucile's direction. His balance shot to hell, he stumbled and tottered before colliding with the desk, and he grunted as he sank to the ground at her feet. He wanted to get up. He wanted to. He just… Tsar Luna, he hurt, everything hurt, inside and outside, and he wanted to go to sleep and pretend it was all a dream.

"You seem to care for her, Caspian," said Damon, grinning as he pulled up a chair, swung it around and straddled it, leaning forward on the backrest. "Do you? Do you want to be knight in shining armor?"

His tongue grew loose, and he sighed in relief. Closing his eyes, he turned his head and glared at Damon, feeling utterly and completely defeated. _Rile him up. Make him angry._ Blinking, he rubbed at his jaw, hoping none of his teeth had been knocked loose. Dragging himself to his feet, he intensified his insolent glare. _Make him mad. Make him hurt you._ If Damon was hurting him, he wouldn't try to… try to… he didn't even want to think about Damon seemed to have in mind for Lucile.

"No," he said. "I'd try and shield anyone from you, cunt."

"But, I'm not going to lay a finger on her," said Damon, sounding delighted. His grin grew, and he flashed his teeth. "You are."

"No." Caspian's eyes widened, and he felt the allure running through his veins, Damon's commands taking hold in his mind. _No. No. NO!_ He was many things, and he would do many things to shield his own scales, but he was _not_ a rapist. _No. Fight. Not this. Never this._ It felt like he couldn't breathe, and the order was wrapping itself around him, and his hands were moving.

"Caspian," said Lucile, and her voice was high-pitched and terrified. "What's—"

"He's trying to disobey me," said Damon, and his voice was amused. "Aw, he really does like you. They call you the Maiden of Glass, Lucy. We'll see how much you bleed when he sticks you, right?"

 _No._ Caspian clenched his fists, trying to keep them from moving off their own volition, and to his horror, his body was moving, turning to face Lucile. He gasped for breath, sweat beading on his skin, and he grasped the desk, trying to hold himself in place, but his body had a mind of its own. _. NO!._

"Caspian, please no," she whispered, and there were tears in her eyes.

"I'm trying," he whimpered, and he was crying as well. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

A glimmer of silver caught his eye, and he bit his lip. On the desk, right beside Lucile's empty plate, lay a fork. Without wasting another moment, he grabbed it and jammed the tines into his thigh, screaming as he collapsed to the ground. Pain coursed through his body, and blood ran down his scales, and he sobbed.

The allure was there, still present beneath the surface, but all he felt was pain. It radiated through him, and his body focused on it, honing in on the fork sticking out of his thigh, and he closed his eyes to hide his sobs.

"Adorable," said Damon, and then he was kneeling beside Caspian, grasping him by the hair and dragging him along. "We'll be back, Lucy. I want to see how long before I can make him break."

* * *

Damon was annoyed. He didn't let it show, but he was absolutely livid. Turning away from the sobbing heap on the ground that was Prince Caspian, he took a deep breath and left the room. Calm, he needed to be calm, but it was just so difficult, especially when every fibre of his being wanted to go upstairs and see how long it took to make Lucile scream for mercy. His daddy was right. If he was to succeed where mummy and sister had failed, then he needed to be in control, and it was for that reason that he'd stopped just short of killing the wretched prince behind him.

Walking away, he grasped his robe from where he'd slung it over his chair and slipped it on, slamming the door behind him. The prince liked forks, did he, and he liked stabbing himself? Well, Damon had given him his fill. It had been delicious to watch, and he'd not felt a drop of shame at pleasuring himself to the sight of Caspian pulling the fork out of his thigh and stabbing it again, over and over again until the prince had passed out.

Whether from blood loss or the pain, Damon wasn't sure, but he'd made sure to wake the wretch immediately. He'd thought mermen were made of sterner stuff, but evidently, he'd been wrong. After tossing a jar of salve and a few bandages at the prince, he'd shoved him out of his mind, and he'd turned his focus to the next matter that required his attention.

Barefoot and naked beneath his robe, he made his way to the balcony overlooking Hamelin, and he fished a cigarette out of the pocket at his hip. Lighting it, he took a deep drag before reclining in his chair, crossing his legs in front of him and enjoying his smoke. It was his mummy's favourite brand, and when he inhaled the acrid smoke, it was almost as though she was still there, perched at his side and whispering sweet nothings in his ear as she first taught him how to use a knife.

You had to be very careful with the blade, to insert it to just the right depth. Beneath the skin but before the flesh itself, and you had to be very deft and keep a steady hand. She'd whispered the instructions to him as she'd run her hands across his body, training him to remain steady no matter the distraction, and when he was done, his hands had been stained red, and the deer he'd practiced on had been sewn into his favourite blanket.

The sun was setting. It hung low over the horizon, spilling molten gold across the surrounding mountains, and from the hill upon which rested his chateau, he could see all of Hamelin. The streams were clear as crystal, and the villages were quite quaint and beautiful, and the villagers knew how to behave. His pets, all of them, like the little dolls Dominique had once played with. She'd loved to pop off their heads, he remembered, and she'd giggled the first time they'd brought home a lass from the nearest village and they'd popped off her head as she'd writhed between them, screaming.

Toys. His toys. Hamelin may be a province of Eléadoré, but that was a mere technicality. His daddy's reputation kept the Charmants away, and his mummy's money kept them in luxury.

"I trust you did not break any of them," said Daddy, and Damon looked up with a smile as his father walked onto the balcony, dressed in the clothes of a wayfarer. Almost as soon as he caught sight of them, his face fell, and he shook his head.

"You can't be leaving already, Daddy," he said, and his tone was almost pleading. "Please, Mummy's gone, and Dominique. I need you here."

"Time waits for none, and I have business to take care off," replied his Daddy, taking a seat in the recliner beside him. Gesturing for a cigarette, he lit it and took a deep drag, and as he exhaled, he smiled. "My agents see all, and a certain sorceress is on the move again, heading for the old land of Albion. I intend to bury her there."

"Maleficent?" he asked, excitement bubbling in his voice as he sat up straight. "Daddy, take me with you. I want to see her scream and bleed. For Mummy."

"You have other matters to intend to," said Daddy, frowning. "Come now, Damon, you know the plan. I will be sure to give her your regards as I draw her to her death, though, of that you can be certain. Now, tell me, how are the plans regarding her son?"

"Caspian is breaking slowly," Damon admitted, trying not to let his hurt show. He didn't want Daddy to see how much he wanted to go with him, because then the Piper would be cross with him, and he didn't want that, not one bit. "But, I'm restraining myself, like you said. He'll return to Aquitania soon, but by then, he won't be able to breathe without my say-so. King Eric's a dead man walking, and then my puppet's on the throne."

His daddy smiled, and Damon preened as his father reached out to ruffle his hair. It was always nice to have Daddy's approval, especially now that Mummy and Dominique weren't here. They were so much alike, the Piper and him, and in the end, they were now all they had.

"You're so much stronger than Dominique," said Daddy, sounding impressed. "I always feared my powers were diluted by your mother when we had the two of you, but I see now that she just got a drop, and you got the rest. I'm so proud of that… Perhaps soon, I'll make you a flute."

A flute of his own? His eyes brimmed with delight, because his Daddy trusted him to carry on his work when he was gone, just as Daddy had taken on the role from his daddy, and so on and so forth. The line of Pipers… they'd terrorised the four corners of the world for generations, and now Daddy wanted him to be one as well.

"Thank you, Daddy," he whispered, and his Daddy ran a thumb down his cheek, licking his lips as he stared at him.

"You're so much like your mother as well," Daddy said, his smile widening. "I know what you want, Damon, and I know what you always wanted. I never gave it to you, because that was a line I never wanted to cross, not with you, my beloved son. Dominique and your mother always kept me well sated, so I was content to let you simply be my heir."

"Daddy." He grinned, not believing it.

"Make me proud, Damon. Bring Aquitania to its knees. Sell the Charmant girl. Kill Morgan Thorn. Do these things, and make me proud, and I'll give you what you want." Daddy leaned in, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'll bend you over the desk and give you exactly what you want."

"I'll do it all, Daddy," he whispered. "I'll break them all for you. We'll kill them all."

"Aaah, that's my boy."

* * *

Jaq paced his prison, exhausted and worried, but he dared not close his eyes, not even for a moment. Across the room, the four-poster bed tempted him mercilessly, the soft sheets and softer mattress beckoning to his tired limbs. The cushions strewn across the twin loveseats beside the fireplace called to him, as did the thick carpet and the window seat, but no matter how much comfort the prison offered, he couldn't ignore the bars upon the window or the locks upon his door.

Curse King Philip and curse his sons. Curse his wife and curse his daughter. Curse all of Somnia. If he'd known… Jaq swallowed, clenching his fists. They should have taken their chances in Amoré, or else headed for the battlefield in the hopes of seeking shelter with King Eugene. He'd known, dammit, he'd known that the Rêveres could not be trusted, not when you needed them most, but he'd been desperate.

Food was hard to come by on the roads, especially for the likes of his sister and him, both of whom were known across the land. It was their eyes. One blue and one green, a signature trait that they both shared, and it was a rare trait at that, and all of Eléadoré knew it. Lucile couldn't go on much longer without proper rest and sustenance, even if she'd said otherwise, and his own reserves had been wearing thin.

Somnia had been the closest safe haven… or so they'd thought, and now… _Lucile… please be safe._

Jaq took a deep breath, knowing he had to hold on to hope. His sister was a clever woman, and she was more resourceful than many would give her credit for. And, beneath the demure dresses and soft smiles, she had a spine as rigid as steel. Lucile would break before she bent, and his anxiety spiked. No. She would be fine. If Tsar Luna was good, she had put as much distance between Somnia and herself as possible. That he was a prisoner in her place did not bother him, for he had always known the roles they'd been born to, and he'd devoted his life to her without complaint.

It had always been Lucile's destiny to sit their father's throne, and he had made it his destiny to be both her sword and her shield. _Such selfless love and devotion_ , his mother's Fairy Godmother had said when she'd presented him with his glass sword. Instinctively, he reached for it, and he sighed as he realized it was not there. Like his freedom, his most prized possession belonged to King Philip, and Jaq felt almost naked without his blade.

His eyelids drooped as he paced, and he shook himself, pinching at his wrist to keep from falling asleep. Tiny bruises dotted the skin along the back of his hands, marks left there by his constant pinching, and he winced at the sharp pain. There were eyes on him, watching his every move, and who knew what would happen if he allowed himself to close his eyes. This was not the Somnia he remembered, and there was a darkness in the air that chilled him to the bone.

"Jaq," said a voice, and he shuddered in recognition.

Turning, he tried to arrange his features into an impassive mask and failed, because she had shaken him by how silently she'd entered. It was almost as though she'd passed through the door without needing to open it, and he shook his head. No, he was imagining things. A person could only go long without sleep before their mind began to play tricks on them, and he'd passed that point a long time ago.

"Princess Aurelia," he said stiffly. "I would bow, but I'm not feeling particularly fond of you and your family right now."

"Your hostility does you no good," said Aurelia as she walked across the room.

Her soft-pink gown rustled as she walked, and her ash-blond hair dripped with a dozen sweet-scented flowers. Jaq regarded her in disdain. Aurelia's beauty was the skin-deep sort, and though it had been a long time since he'd considered her a friend, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the young girl he'd once played with in the gardens of his castle.

Aurelia had been as sweet as honey in those days, but over the years, she'd grown as cold and haughty as her mother.

"Why are you so angry, Jaq?" she asked, reaching out to stroke his cheek. He jerked away from her touch, narrowing his eyes, and she sighed. "It does you no good, and it does Lucile no good. The longer you remain like this, the more irritated my father grows, and the less eager he is to rescue your sister from Hamelin."

The world fell away around him, and it was as though she'd just struck him with a hammer. Blood rushed to his ears, and his heart beat like a drum as he shook her head. _No. Not there. Anywhere but there._ Hamelin. No. It couldn't be. Not Hamelin. Lucile would break before she bent… but the De Vils… they'd broken people stronger than his sister, and he gasped for breath.

"You're lying," he stammered. "Aurelia, please tell me you're lying."

"Well, that got through the lovely shell, didn't it?" she said, her voice smug. "And no, I'm not lying. Father has offered to pay the ransom for her, of course, but he would like something from you in return."

Something inside him snapped, and like broken glass, it all came crashing down. Reality crashed into him, because his sister was in Hamelin and he was here, too far away to protect her, and these people… he'd never liked the Rêveres, but Queen Aurora had been friends with his mother, and King Philip had watched him and Lucile grow up. Yet, instead of helping them, of just being good people, they were leveraging this to their advantage, and he already knew what King Philip wanted.

And it was something he couldn't give. If he could, he'd give it in a heartbeat to save his sister, and he'd pay any price, even his own soul, but this was something he simply couldn't give.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, and his tone was pleading. "Why? If you wanted us, you could have just let us in. You didn't need to attack us and force her to run. You didn't need to drive her into that monster's hands in the first place. We were desperate. We needed the help of the people our parents considered friends. Why are you doing this, Aurelia?"

"To make the most of a terrible situation," she replied, and there was no emotion in her expression as she reached out to cup his cheek. Her fingers were like ice, and the world was growing dizzy around him, the rush of emotions coupling with the lack of sleep to drive him to his knees.

"That's good," she said, "That's where you should be when you accept, because it's only right a husband be on his knee when he propose. You will marry me, Jaq, or your sister can rot in Hamelin for all we care. You'll get me with child so that I have an heir with a claim to Eléadoré, or my brothers will take turns getting an heir from your sister. You'll declare yourself king over her, and you'll disregard her birthright, because a male claimant comes before a female, no matter the nonsensical changes your father made to the laws of Eléadoré to ensure your sister succeeded him, and you'll give me the crown matrimonial. If you don't, then you'll never see Lucile again. Damon De Vil can have her."

 _I can marry you,_ he thought, _and I can force myself to sleep with you, but you'll never get an heir from me._ The law was the law for a reason, and his father's decree had not been made to do away with tradition. It had been done out of necessity. If Jaq became king, then there'd be no princes and princesses save for those his sister bore. And, when he passed, the line would revert to his sister's line, because his seed was barren… and what had the healers said?

Sterile…

 _She doesn't need to know. Play her, like she thinks she's playing me._

"I'll do it," he whispered. "Bring my sister safely to my side, and I will give you my kingdom, Aurelia, and indeed, I'll give you all I have to give. I will. I swear on our future children."

She studied him, looking slightly suspicious, and then she turned up her nose. Releasing her hold on him, she turned and made for the door, chuckling under her breath. He sighed, closing his eyes in relief, and tiredness was stealing up on him, darkness clouding the edges of his vision.

"I'd best tell father to make haste," she said. "Don't look so glum, Jaq. You're looking at the future Queen of Eléadoré."

* * *

That night, Lucile was afraid to close her eyes. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Damon's threat hanging over her like a guillotine. _Breed her like a mare for all I care._ It made her want to vomit, but more than anything, she wanted to cry. If this was to be her fate, then she'd rather have been taken alongside her brother. He could be dead for all she knew, and the thought brought bile to her throat.

 _I should have died when the castle fell, like Mother and Father._ No sooner than the thought came to mind did she push it aside, because she couldn't break down, not now. She had to survive, because too many people had suffered to see her get this far in the first place. When her bedroom doors had come crashing down in the dead of night and the rebels had swarmed her room, her pet fawn had died to give her time to climb out the window. When the rebels had cornered Jaq and her near the postern gate, her mother's personal guard had intervened, and Queen Cinderella had let herself be taken prisoner to buy them time.

Their horses had died in the fights that had followed, and then Jaq had let himself be taken rather than let her fall into King Philip's machinations. And now, even in this hell, people were still falling upon their swords for her. _Prince Caspian… The Rogue of the Sea…_ He had a reputation, and she'd heard the rumours, and she'd had them confirmed when she'd first him, all those years ago.

Yet, when he'd stabbed himself rather than follow Damon's order…

Lucile bit her lip. She would not cry. Too many people had sacrificed too much already, and she couldn't dishonour them now.

She was roused from her thoughts by a soft knock upon her door. Frowning, she climbed out of bed and walked across the room, her fingers hesitating at the knob. Then, she whispered, in as faint a voice as she could muster.

"Come in, Caspian." Who else could it be? Who else would have the courtesy to knock before entering.

The door slid open just enough for him to slip through, and in the dull light of the candles on her bedside tables, he looked liked death. She gasped, biting her lip as her took in him. He was shirtless, and his chest was covered in lashes, some broken and bleeding whilst scabs formed on others. The skin around his collar was raw and red, looking as though someone had rubbed sea sand into him until it had sawed away his skin, and he walked with a limp.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For today. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Voice broken, eyes like shattered glass, he looked so unlike himself that it made her want to reach out and shake him until the storm reignited within his gaze.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she whispered, and she hurried across the room. Grasping the chair at her desk, she carried to him and helped him down, resting her hand upon his shoulder as he did so.

Almost immediately, he jerked away, nearly falling out of the chair, and his eyes grew wild and terrified. His heart was beating so loudly that she could almost hear it, and he was gasping for breath. For a moment, it was as if he wasn't even there, and she quickly raised her hands up in front of her.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay. It's me. It's Lucile."

"Just… just don't touch me," he replied. "Please."

She nodded, and at the back of her mind, she wanted to blame him for everything. If she could, she'd blame him for dragging her to Hamelin, and she'd blame him for all that had happened since, but it wasn't in her nature to turn a blind eye to suffering. Lucile had seen what Damon could do with his voice, and whilst her own mind remained free of his influence thanks to her magic, Caspian was trapped, bound to serve every command, no matter how heinous.

And, he'd fought the influence. He'd hurt himself rather than hurt her. That counted for something.

"If he finds you here, Caspian…"

"There's nothing he can do to me that he hasn't already done," said Caspian, looking up. "I just… he said something to me while he played his games. Is my… Lucile.. Is my mother..."

 _He doesn't know._ Her silence must have spoken volumes, because he hung his head, and what little light seemed to have been in his eyes dimmed. Tears dripped onto his lap as he wept, and she didn't know what to do. Ordinarily, she'd have hugged a person in tears, offering them comfort, or at least taken their hand, but she couldn't touch him without causing him more pain. What could she say, even if she had the words.

"She died thinking I ran away," he whimpered. "Father… and Aquaria… and I'm not there… They don't know I'm here. Damon told me. They just think I threw another tantrum and ran away again." He shuddered. "They must think I've abandoned them."

"Caspian, be strong, please," she said, hoping she was saying the right thing. "We will survive this, and we'll get out of here. We will. Even miracles take a little time."

"There's no escape for me. None. He's asleep, but I can still feel his voice in my head. I can run as far as the ends of the earth, and I'd have to turn back if he called. I'm his puppet, Lucile. I'm never leaving Hamelin." He looked up at her with reddened eyes. "You can. You still can. I'll help you. Give me some time. I'll get you out of here. I will. I just have to work out how to get around his exact wording."

He sounded determined, and she felt a flicker of guilt in her chest. _Another sword cast down at my feet, and another person sacrificing for my safety. When will it end?_ His offer was almost too good to pass up, and she wanted to take it, to run, and to let him face Damon. But, she couldn't.

Lucile had never turned her back on those in need, and she wouldn't start now.

"He will kill you if you cost him me," she whispered. "You say you can work around the curse he's placed on you, Caspian. So don't find a way to get me out of here. Find a way to get us both out."

"I can't."

"You will die if you don't."

"He doesn't kill you, Lucile, he just does things that make you wish you were dead," Caspian whispered. "So please, just let me help you escape. I'm already dead on the inside, where it doesn't show. Let me do this one last thing as a prince and not as whatever's left after he's done with me. Please."

She opened her mouth, tears in her eyes, and he cut her off.

"Please, just let me die a hero. I can see Mother again, and I can tell her that just this once, when it mattered, I didn't run. Please."


	34. So Cold

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Nine**

 **So Cold**

* * *

"Truly, you should not have troubled yourself to make such an arduous journey overland," said Nick, hoping to keep the irritation from his voice. "I am certain that such a visit could have waited until the seas were calm enough for sailing, especially for one with as many years as you."

He was sitting on his mother's—no, his—throne, and he was holding court. There were a great many people who had come to see him today, and a great many more who had come to bear witness to the events that would transpire within his throne room. A great many widows had come to call as well, here to beg some form of restitution after their husbands had given their lives in defence of his kingdom, and he would see to it that the dead were properly honoured. He owed them that much. Near the back of the room stood Morgan, watching him with a reassuring smile on his face, and on either side of the throne sat his aunt and uncle.

They were there to advise him, but in the end, the final decision was his.

Right now, however, his plans had been upended by the untimely arrival of the Duke of Weselton, who had made the journey by carriage, though for some reason, he had not sent word of his coming. _He means to rattle me._ _He is welcome to try._

"Nonsense, King Arnadalr," said the Duke of Weselton, running a gnarled finger through his coarse moustache. "I was here to see your great-grandparents crowned, and your grandparents, and your mother before you. To think I have missed yours. Truly, I had to come as soon as I heard, to offer you both my condolences and my congratulations."

 _Mum always said the man was a weasel_ , thought Nick, though he kept his face impassive as he nodded at the duke. _You're not here to mourn my mother, and you certainly aren't here to witness me sit the throne._ The Duke of Weselton did not leave his lands for anything that did not benefit him in some way, and Nick had a great many suspicions as to what had brought him to Arendelle with such haste, and to be honest, he liked none of the ideas running through his mind.

"Such pleasant words," he said, and his smile was as sharp as his sword. "It is a shame that they're all lies. I am my mother's son and I have her skill for sniffing out duplicity, and so I'm going to ask again, why are you here?"

The duke grew red in the face and, for a moment, Nick wondered if his words had just done what hurricanes, blizzards, two tidal waves, an earthquake, and two wars had not, and somehow given the elderly man a stroke. The room erupted in murmurs, and at his side, his aunt shot him a warning look, which he ignored.

 _To be king, you must not be as gentle as the snowflake. You must be as fierce as the blizzard and as unrelenting as the glacier._

His mother's words, not his, and they were true. He knew full well the importance of keeping the nobles on his side, but he would not tolerate deceit from them, especially not when his reign was still so young.

"Your Majesty," said the duke, wringing his hands. "I do not quite take the meaning of your words. I merely wished to look upon your face as you sat your throne."

"Then I shall have a portrait commissioned," he replied, returning the shaky gaze with a stern one of his own. "You may take it with you, and you may gaze upon me at leisure in the comfort of your own castle."

The duke spluttered, and Nick raised an eyebrow before continuing. "You see, Duke Weselton, I am quite aware that your granddaughter is married to Hector Westergaard, and I am sure you are aware that today is the day that I intend to judge Duke Rolf Westergaard, the eldest brother of your grandson-in-law, for his role in the rebellion against the throne of Arendelle. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I killed Hans Westergaard myself during the battle. Hector stands in line to inherit the Southern Isles, and you are here to ensure that he does so, because it would be in your interest, am I correct?"

"King Arnadalr," he said, and if it was possible, he turned redder. "These accusations… I fear—"

"The fleet of the Southern Isles would have had to sail through the Straits of Weselton to reach Arendelle to avoid the Coronan patrols," said Nick, raising a hand. "Yet, I received no warning that a _hostile_ army had passed through your lands. It's almost as though you intended for my palace to fall. Of course, these are all merely theories on my part, but I do warn you to tread carefully. You will find that the Court of Arendelle had grown much colder since my mother was slain."

The duke looked at him, and there was hatred burning in his eyes as he stiffly inclined his head before begging pardon and returning to stand amongst the assembled crowd. Nick watched him go, his gaze narrowed. The man truly was a weasel, and he was rather lucky that he hadn't been sentenced to stand trial beside Rolf for his role in the entire affair. That, however, Nick could not do, not when all he had to go on was conjecture and the words of a few of his mother's agents who had returned to the castle with extensive reports.

" _You're rather scary when you're in king mode, you know that, right?"_

Morgan's voice echoed in his mind, and he rolled his eyes before sharing a quick glance with his boyfriend.

Nick cleared his throat, and he nodded, gesturing for his aunt—who was currently acting as his majordomo until he found a suitable individual for the position—to act. Grief still lingered in her features, and like him, she still dressed in black, and if tradition was to be observed, they'd both wear nothing else for a year. Yet, his aunt was strong, and when it came to going about her duties, she did not let her grief hold her back. Elegantly, she rose from her seat and unfurled her scroll.

"Will the spouses, children, parents, or other dependents of the soldiers who fell during both the Siege of Arendelle and the war in the Imperium please step forward. King Nicholas has reached a decision regarding what actions are to be taken, and it would be best to address all of you who are here at the same time to prevent unnecessary repetition."

Nick rose to his feet as his people stepped forward. Most were women, but there were children as well, some as young as twelve or thirteen, and from the looks of things, those children had come alone. He fought the urge to shudder. Many soldiers had fallen in the Imperium, and more had fallen defending the city, as had several dozen civilians who had remained whilst their families had evacuated the city.

War was hell, not for the deceased, but for those who were left behind to mourn. He knew their pain, because even simply sitting on the throne was enough to remind him of what the war had taken from him.

"I grieve for your losses, for I know what it is like to lose someone you love upon a battlefield," he said. "And, I know that no amount of gold or silver can fill the void left by such a void. However, for many of you, some restitution may be enough to make things easier and relieve some of the stress you now feel. As such, the salaries of all soldiers who have fallen during the fighting, be it here or in the Imperium, will be paid to their spouses for the remainder of the year, so that they may have some security as they come to terms with their losses and cope."

"Bless you, King Nicholas," said an elderly woman whose head was wrapped in a shawl, her face as lined as an old oak. When he studied her, he realized she looked rather familiar, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He had seen her before, in passing, when she'd come to visit her son in the castle. Claude… the captain of Aunt Anna's personal guard, who'd given his life in defence of his aunt and cousins. The woman fell to her knees, and Nick bit his lip, feeling rather uncomfortable at this show of reverence. "Tsar Luna bless you."

"May Tsar Luna bless us all in these dark days," he replied, nodding to the assembled crowd.

Slowly, they trickled out of the room as he returned to his throne, and he swallowed. That had been harder than he'd expected, seeing their faces and their grief. He knew their pain, and he knew that the void would never truly leave. It was an emptiness in his heart that nobody, not even Morgan, could fill, and he would likely feel it until his dying day.

Now, onto the next matter that needed to be addressed. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and he frowned, glancing at Morgan, wishing his boyfriend was allowed upon the dias at his side. Yet, that was not how things were done, and no matter how much he loved him, Morgan was his lover and not his spouse, and he was not a member of the royal family.

Uncle Kristoff gestured, and the guard standing near the corner of the room tapped the door behind him. It swung open and two more guards walked in, dragging Rolf Westergaard between them, and he had certainly seen better days. Gone were his elaborate trappings, and they'd been replaced with a single woolen shift that went just past his knees, and his hair was a tangle. His lip had been split, and his beard had grown out, hiding the scars that he'd gotten during the battle.

Three fingers were missing from his right hand, and Nick felt no pity. When he'd released his blizzard, Rolf had already been fleeing, but you could not run from the cold. The man should consider himself lucky, if the fate of those rebels who had not managed to escape Nick's frostbitten wave was to be brought to attention.

"Rolf Westergaard," said Nick, leaning forward in his throne. "I will not beat around the bush. You are guilty of high treason, conspiracy to usurp the throne, and open rebellion. You are guilty of interacting with known enemies of the kingdom, men who were banished for reasons you are well aware off, and if that is not enough…" He trailed off, wanting to chuckle despite the severity of the situation and the weight upon his shoulders. This last charge… He'd wanted to leave it out, to spare the court, but Aunt Anna had been adamant.

"And tax evasion," concluded Aunt Anna, raising an eyebrow. "When your lands were seized, several interesting ledgers were brought to the crown's attention."

"Yes," said Nick, and the amusement was already dying as the seriousness blossomed. This was his first time acting as a judge, and it was not a role he relished. He knew the punishment he would have to inflict, that he had no choice but to inflict, and he took a deep breath. "Do you have anything to say?"

"It was Hans, Your Majesty!" Rolf sounded terrified. "It was Hans and my mother. They forced my hand. I couldn't resist. My mother was a witch. She had power. I could not defy her. Please, Your Majesty. I beg mercy."

"Mercy?" Nick asked, a spark of anger igniting within his chest. "Where was mercy when your men butchered my soldiers? Where was mercy when my people were driven from their homes in fear of their lives? Where are mercy when both my uncle and my consort took grievous wounds during the fighting, the effects of which will likely be felt for the rest of their lives?"

He rose from his throne, and the room was growing cold around him. He stepped down from the dais, approaching the duke, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Where was mercy when Hollow Ones entered my kingdom, brought here by your brother? Where was mercy when a genocide was committed in Hans' name? The trolls were more than my citizens, Duke Westergaard. They were friends of the royal family, friends who have aided us in ways that you can never imagine, and they are the adoptive family of my own uncle, Prince Consort Kristoff."

He leaned in, frost glinting in his eyes.

"Where was mercy when my cousins, a girl of ten and a baby still in her mother's arms, were forced to flee for their lives because _your brother_ wanted them dead?"

"I… I… King Arnadalr, I beg your forgiveness. I have a family. I have a son. Please. Please, sire." Sweat beaded on the man's face, and he shuddered, looking as though he wanted to curl into a ball and cry. _The dungeons of Arendelle are not comfortable, but you'd think we had him tortured, the way he's acting._

"Duke Westergaard," he said, and his voice was colder than ice. "I would be within my rights to have your family executed for these grievous crimes, but in view of your plea, I have decided to be _merciful_."

"Here is my mercy. Your son is a boy, innocent to his parents' crimes, and for that, he will see no harm from me. Henceforth, he is declared a ward of his grandmother, the Duchess of Almera, though he is barred from ever holding lands or titles within this kingdom. I will not have this cycle continue."

"Yet, the rest of your family… The Duke of Weselton has kindly reminded me that his granddaughter is wedded to your last remaining brother, Hector Westergaard. As of today, he is banished from Arendelle, for it has come to my attention that he and his wife are in Aquitania, and that they have been there for years. That is where they shall remain, along with their children. As for your wife… I will have mercy here as well. Henceforth, I place her into the custody of Almera, so that she may be with her son and mother, with the knowledge that she too is barred from ever holding title or lands in Arendelle. By my decree, she is not permitted to set foot outside her mother's castle."

Nick drew himself up to his full height, and the air around him grew colder, much colder.

"And you?" he asked. "You will have no mercy from me. Rolf Westergaard, I, King Nicholas Jackson Frost, King Arnadalr XXVII, do sentence you to die for your crimes."

Reaching out, Nick grasped the man by the chin, and he closed his eyes as he let the frost pour from his fingers. Rolf yelled, eyes rolling back in his head as his blood grew thick and clotted, and then the ice was spreading. A few seconds later, it was done, and Nick shoved the ice statue aside, letting it shatter as it hit the ground.

" _Holy fucking shit, Frosty."_

Taking a deep breath, he turned, and he returned to his throne. Aunt Anna was watching him with wide eyes, and her expression was troubled. Uncle Kristoff looked grim, very grim. He ignored them. _The law is the law. And I will see it upheld._ Taking his seat, he glanced around the room, and the people were staring at him with a strange mixture of fear and respect, and then he found the Duke of Weselton, staring at him with an appraising look.

"Nick, that was ill done," said Aunt Anna, leaning in to whisper. "That was not you."

"Would Mother have acted differently?" he retorted, and she fell silent, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

 _She had forgotten, or else she had never truly seen._ He remembered. He remembered the first time he'd seen his mother order an execution, and he remembered how she had approached the man and pressed her palm to his cheek, letting the ice take him. _We who judge must deal our own justice,_ she had told him, once, _for, if we hide behind the gallows or the headsman's axe, we forget what it is to take a life._

He took a deep breath, and finally, he looked up. There was one final act before he could adjourn his court. More than anything, he needed Morgan right now, and he needed to be alone to gather his thoughts. He needed… he needed… he didn't know what he really needed, but he was ready for this to end, and for him to return to his study.

"Lady Li Yuë," he said, "Please approach the throne."

Yuë looked at him in confusion, but she did as he asked. Pale and still rather weak from the wound she'd taken during the fighting, with a fresh scar above her eye, she wore a grey dress, and she knelt as she reached the dais.

"King Arnadalr," she said, looking up to meet his eyes. "Forgive me impertinence, but I am confused."

"You distinguished yourself during the Siege of Arendelle," he said, and he looked to Aunt Anna for some show of support. Despite her expression being strained, she nodded at him, knowing what he was about to do, and she supported it. It would be challenging, but it would be for the best.

"You are a foreigner in my kingdom, and there is no easy way to say this, but the Imperium has been lost to us all. Yet, with no ties to this castle, and even when you were told to leave, you remained and fought. In fact, I believe that you could teach my own nobles many things about loyalty."

He looked around the room, daring any to challenge him, and Yuë still looked confused. The Duke of Weselton glared at him, but he replied with a stern look. _Where was Weselton in my darkest hour? Where was Almera? Where was Svanangar?_ These dukes and their games… They loved to give him empty platitudes, but when his palace had been besieged, it had not been any of them who had rode to his aide, even though they had sworn vows of fealty to his mother.

"In that regard, Lady Li Yuë, I name you a citizen of my kingdom, and if you will accept me as your king, I elevate you to the rank of duchess. In this regard, I grant you dominion of the Southern Isles, and all lands and titles that accompany such a position."

Yuë looked at him as though he'd just clubbed her over the head, and she opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Across the room, the Duke of Weselton had turned red, and Nick shook his head. _If the nobles give me trouble, then it will be time to make new nobles._ More words of wisdom from his mother, and that was the truth of it. Yuë could be trusted, whereas he trusted none of the current nobility as far as he could throw them.

Besides, the Southern Isles had long since rotted under the rule of the Westergaards. Perhaps, what was truly needed was a breath of fresh air.

"King Arnadalr," whispered Yuë, "I would be honoured."

"Then rise, Yuë of the House of Li, as the Duchess of the Southern Isles."

* * *

Their new bedroom was a nice place, but Morgan still wasn't sure why they couldn't have stayed in the guest room that had eventually become his room before becoming _their_ room. Well, he did know, but he didn't quite like it just yet. The King of Arendelle couldn't live in the section of the castle that was reserved for guests and visiting dignitaries, and he needed his own wing for privacy. Mercifully, Nick had drawn the line at actually taking over Queen Elsa's old quarters, because Morgan wasn't quite sure how his boyfriend would have coped with being surrounded by his late mother's belongings, all of which hadn't been touched since the funeral.

He sighed. The new bedroom was nice, but it wasn't yet theirs. Their room had been a strange mix between Nick's neatness and his less than stellar housekeeping skills. The desk his boyfriend had used for work was always pristine, but the carpet had ink stains, and the bed was never made, usually because one of them was always lazing in it. The cushions on the window seat would be in disarray, because they both liked to sit there, and there was a large oil stain on the seat itself from when Nick had spilled the jar of scented oil they used when they were _together,_ and, this was probably just a dragon thing, but the place had smelled like theirs. Nick's cologne and freshly fallen snow, mixed together with his own shaving cream and lotion, and the touch of brimstone that accompanied his flames.

It had been _theirs_ , and he was being silly, because this new room was also theirs, but it wasn't the same. Not in the slightest. For some reason, there was a grand piano in the corner of the room, but neither of them played, though Nick had looked at the piano rather pensively. The piano, however ,could wait. The room was too clean and too big, and though they'd brought their old sheets and their old cushions, and they'd even had the blasted stain-covered carpet brought up, it just…

Morgan sighed again. He was being silly, and worse, his boyfriend's babbling was starting to rub off on him. It was just a new room, and soon enough, this place would be just the same as their old one. Undoing the top buttons of his shirt now that they'd retired for the night, he took a deep breath, thankful to be free of the somewhat tight collar, and strode out onto the balcony.

Nick was leaning against the railing with snowflakes in his hair, and he looked tired and somewhat drained. Morgan bit his lip. His boyfriend's little display in the throne room had been a little scary, if he was being honest with himself, and it was still hard to reconcile Nick, his boyfriend, with Nicholas, the king. Honestly, he still didn't know how he felt about it, because because being a king was changing Nick, and he was… colder, somehow.

No, he was being silly again. This was Nick, and he'd changed, because of course he had. He'd lost his mother, survived a siege, taken the lives of an entire army, lost a beloved childhood friend in Olaf, and become a king over the course of a few days. It would be enough to change anyone, and even if Nick was a little colder, he was still his Frosty.

Smiling wanly, he walked over to his boyfriend and slipped his arms around his waist, and the two of them looked out over the kingdom. The cool night breeze tickled his skin, and Nick visibly relaxed in his embrace, the tension in his shoulders seeming to fade.

"So, Yuë gets to be a duchess," said Morgan, a hint of teasing in his voice "What do I get?"

Nick responded with a half-hearted chuckle, and he shook his head. The snow began to fall around them, stirred by his boyfriend's emotions, and Morgan hugged him tighter, content to just stand there and wait until Nick was ready to reply.

The seconds turned to minutes, and then the minutes turned to an hour, but the silence was not an unwelcome one. They'd always liked their companionable silences, since their first kiss in the gardens of Arendelle, and that, at the very least, had not changed.

"Morgan?" asked Nick, finally breaking the silence. "Am I still the same prince you fell in love with?"

"No," replied Morgan, because whatever happened, and whatever changed, there was one thing that they would always be with each other, and that was honest. "You're not the same prince I fell in love with. But, I don't think I'm the same nervous boy you fell in love with either, am I?"

"I didn't want to change," Nick whispered. "I didn't. Morgan, have I grown cold? Am I not a good king? The way the people looked at me today, after I executed Rolf… they were almost afraid of me… I don't want them to be afraid of me. I don't want to change."

"Nobody does," said Morgan. "It's just something that happens. And, you're cold to your enemies and warm to your friends and your people. Not many kings would have done what you did for the families of the soldiers who died, you know? I can honestly think of none. And, so what if you're cold to the people who deserve it? If the tables were turned, Rolf would have gladly taken off all our heads and mounted them on the castle gates. So, yes, you're sterner, and you're less carefree, and yes, you're colder... but, you're still my Frosty, just a little… frostier."

Nick closed his eyes, looking as though he wanted to either laugh or cry, and Morgan ran a comforting hand down his boyfriend's cheek. The truth was, he _didn't_ miss the person he'd been before Nick. Before coming to Arendelle, he'd been scared of his own shadow, and the slightest hint of a sword pointed in his direction was usually enough to cause a panic attack. He'd been scarred and broken, lonely and afraid… and he wasn't anymore.

"You were a bundle of nerves when I met you," said Morgan. "You were under a lot of pressure, and you were broody, and you were distant. You were lonely. You thought you'd never be able to have a love you could enjoy." They weren't questions. They were statements, all based on what he'd learned during their time together, from their long conversations and late-night confessions.

"I suppose not being any of those things anymore does constitute a good change," said Nick. "How is it that you always know what to say to make me feel better? Why is it that whenever I feel cold, you warm me up?"

"Oh, are we getting philosophical tonight?" he asked, slightly amused. Spinning Nick around in his arms so that his boyfriend was facing him, he cupped Nick's cheek and leaned in, but he didn't kiss him. "I know how to cheer you up because I'm your boyfriend and that comes with the job, and I make you warm because that's what dragons do to ice. They melt it."

He leaned in for a kiss, only for Nick's palm to press into his face, and his boyfriend was giggling, throwing back his head in mirth. Morgan raised an eyebrow, not knowing what he'd said that was so funny, but it seemed to have gotten the desired outcome, so who was he to complain.

"You're such a dork," said Nick, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes and looking lighter than he had all day. Imitating his slightly deeper voice, Nick added, "They melt it."

"You love me anyway," said Morgan.

"I do," replied Nick, a fond smile on his face. Then, he grew pensive, and he looked away. "Morgan, can I ask you something?"

"Of course?"

"What's bugging you?" he asked, and his voice was serious despite his smile. "You've been a bit distant since my coronation, and you're quieter than normal. So, what's up? Talk to me."

"You noticed that, did you?" asked Morgan, sighing. He had hoped that Nick would be to busy to notice, because the issues weren't with them. It was with him. It was his own misgivings, and his own insecurities, and those were his to deal with, not Nick's. He knew, dammit, he knew that his boyfriend was there for him, and they'd shared things with each other that they hadn't shared with anyone else… but the fact remained that, at the end of the day, he had doubts.

Not in them. Never in them. In him.

"We share everything, Morgan," said Nick, shaking his head. "Whatever it is, tell me."

"I… Ok, can we sit down?"

Nick nodded, and when Morgan took a seat on the nearby bench, his boyfriend perched on his lap, and he smiled. No matter the struggle, it always felt good to have Nick there, and even if his boyfriend was cool to the touch, just being with him was enough to make him warm.

"Look, do you remember what I said when we first kissed? That I'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for you and the others to get tired of the the novelty that was me and move on?"

Nick opened his mouth to reply, but Morgan shushed him with a look. This was something he had to say, and he didn't want to be interrupted.

"I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, Nick, because good things don't happen to me, and you know that. I know. I know you love me, and I love you, but in the back of my mind, I can't help but look at everything you have and then ask myself why you're with _me._ You were a prince, and I just let myself get lost in the fairytale of it all, and now you're a king, and I'm still just me. I… it's not about what you have, though, not really, and it isn't about the difference in money or station, you know? It's... a doubt because good things don't happen to people like me, and you're not just a good thing. You're perfect to me, and you're _it_ for me, and that scares me."

Nick cupped his cheek and shook his head, and Morgan sighed. It felt good to get that off his chest, it did, but he couldn't help but feel as though he'd just said something he couldn't take back… but he'd needed to say it. He looked around him. This entire kingdom was Nick's. He was from a small cottage on the Somnian border. All he had was his heart and his scars, and it was because he had nothing, it could only mean that Nick wanted him for _him._

It had been different when Nick had just been the prince, because Nick had still just been Nick, but now his boyfriend was King Arnadalr as well, and when Nick was in king-mode, it was a stark reminder to Morgan of how different they were, and of how much _better_ Nick could do than him.

"There is no other shoe," said Nick. "You're perfect to me as well. I'm with you because I love you. I loved you when I was a prince and everything was sweet and innocent, and I love you as a king with a very rough road to walk. I love you, Morgan, because you make me laugh when I want to cry, and because you're always there for me."

"So," continued Nick, "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to list each and every thing I love about you, and what you bring to this relationship, and I'm not going to stop until your misgivings are gone."

"Nick…"

"Emotionally, I love that when I'm vulnerable with you, you don't laugh. I always had concerns that I was too skinny, too tall, and too pale, and that first night I let you see me in my shorts was terrifying for me. And, I love that you knew just what to say to give me my confidence back. I love that when I'm babbling, my mind going a hundred leagues a minute, you reel me back to reality and bring me back to myself. I love that when I'm upset, you stay up with me even when your eyes are closing, and we just talk until I feel better. And, I love that when I can't sleep, you wrap your tail around me, because it's comforting and warm and almost like having a teddy bear."

The tension was melting off his body, the misgivings slowly fading, and Nick was there, straddling his lap and looking him straight in the eye. He was an idiot. He had always been an idiot when it came to love, and he'd fallen headfirst into loving Nick, and it was his own fault that he'd tripped himself up over it all.

"Physically, I love when your eyes flicker, like they're doing now, because the dragon eyes are, as Bryn always says, bloody cool. I love your wings, because when I fly, you can soar at my side. I love your scars, because they're a part of you, and I hate that you have them, but I love them for being a part of you. I love your hands on me, because they're strong and steadying, and I love the way your teeth gets pointy and a little fangy when you're turned on, because that lets I have that effect on you. I love your abs, because I can run my fingers down them whenever I want, and I love your height, because you're shorter than me, but that just makes you the perfect height for me to lean on. I love your muscles, because they're strong enough to carry me, and most of all, I love your hair, because it's soft as silk and I can play with it all night long and not get bored."

Morgan flushed despite himself, because he wasn't used to this many compliments being paid to him at once, especially when it came to his appearance. He wasn't the worst looking, he knew, but his scars had always haunted him, and he'd said as much to Nick on the first day he'd let his boyfriend see them. _Ugly, aren't they?_ And, the dragon things had always made him just a bit self-conscious, because normal people didn't grow tails and wings, and in the past, his transformation had almost always gotten him in trouble.

They'd told the world who he was, and the world had hated him for it.

"Mentally, I love that you can speak telepathically, because it means you can always speak to me, even when we're in a place that you can't. I love that you're awkward, because I'm awkward as well, and that just fits, right? We can be awkward together, like the time I tried climbing into your lap and kneed you in the balls, or the time you tried carrying me bridal style, and then you dropped me by accident. I love that you grumble all day about my feet being cold, but the second I stick them out of the blanket so you don't get frozen, I feel you hooking your leg around mine and pulling me back under the covers. I love that you're sweet, and that you care, and that even though the world hasn't been kind to you, you're kind to the world. You fight for your friends, and you stand up tall against what's wrong, because you're good, and I love that."

"I can go on," concluded Nick. "But I hope that got the point across."

"It did," said Morgan, his voice soft, and there was a teasing glint in his eye as he leaned in to press his brow against his boyfriend's. "You missed out a bit, though."

"Oh?" said Nick, raising an eyebrow.

"Sexually?" he said, and Nick snorted, and just like that, everything was all right again. Because, he had his misgivings and his doubts, and sometimes they all came to a head, like they had tonight. But, his boyfriend always brought him back from the dark places his mind would wander to. Sometimes, it would be Nick's turn to panic, and that was when he stepped in.

It was a cycle of reassurance and breakdowns that somehow always drew them closer together, and it was their fairytale. It wasn't a perfect fairytale by any means, but it was _theirs_ , and Morgan wouldn't change it for the world.

"I thought you were having misgivings," said Nick, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"I was. You just reminded me that you may be King Arnadalr now, but you're still my Frosty."

"Always," said Nick, leaning in. His lips ghosted across Morgan's ear, and a shiver ran down his back as Nick began to speak in a breathy whisper. He smiled despite it all, because his boyfriend was pure as freshly-fallen snow, but there was more. It was something only he knew.

When his boyfriend wanted to be, Frosty's mouth could be absolutely filthy and as unkingly as they came.

"I love it when you..." whispered Nick, and the things he said sent tingles running down Morgan's spine, and Morgan groaned, feeling his boyfriend's fingers tangle in his hair. _I really am the luckiest man alive… I have a snowflake on the streets and a blizzard in the sheets._

Nick rolled his hips and Morgan groaned, letting his hands fall onto his boyfriend's waist. A grin spread across his lips, and the world was falling away, because it was just him and Nick, now and forever, a king and a dragon, two pieces of a puzzle that just fit together with no questions asked.

"Tsar Luna above, you're dirty when you want to be."

"Only you know that," whispered Nick. "Only you."

"Only me," Morgan agreed. "I love you, Nick."

"I love you too, Morgan," said Nick, grinning as he leaned in for a kiss. A glimmer of seriousness glinted in his eyes, and he pressed a hand to Morgan's chest."And I'm glad you spoke to me when you did rather than let it fester. Remember, we're together in this, and I'm never leaving you. Never. So, I know I'm joking now, and I'm teasing, but just remember, okay? Never worry about not being good enough for me again, because you're perfect, you know?"

"I know."

 _I always knew. I just needed it said out loud._

* * *

Nick ran his fingers over the ivory keys, pensive and thoughtful. Almost hesitantly, he began to play, and it was almost as though he'd never stopped in the first place. The notes were stiff, but they were returning to him, and he sighed. He'd missed this. It was like learning to ride a reindeer. You never truly forget something you once loved doing.

"It's been years since you've played," said a voice, and he turned, a blush colouring his cheeks as his aunt walked in. "Go on, I've missed the sound."

"You know why I stopped."

Still, he played on, his fingers dancing across the keys. It was an old song, but he'd forgotten the words. When he'd been a boy, his aunt had sung it to him often, especially when it snowed. They'd go into the gardens and build a snowman, and Olaf would prance about the place in search of pebbles and twigs.

"Do you want to build a snowman?" sang his aunt, coming to beside him at the piano. "You remembered?"

"It's a hard song to forget," he replied, and he closed his eyes, letting himself be lost in the magic of the music. The notes swam around him, tinged with his aunt's voice, and he swallowed. It had been so long, so very long.

He hadn't played since he was eleven. On the winter solstice, he'd been playing a medley for his father, and the sunset had come without him realizing. When the song was over and he'd looked up, he'd felt his heart sink, because the room was empty, save for a single message frosted upon the window.

 _It's beautiful, Nick. I'm sorry I couldn't stay until the end._

And, he'd cried and sobbed, and he'd stopped playing. His mother had worried, but she'd let him stop, because she never forced him into something he wasn't comfortable doing, and the piano in his bedroom had always brought the memories of that day swimming back to him. _Mum always loved listening to me play._ He swallowed. He should have never stopped.

He should have let her listen to his music more often, and now it was too late.

"If I could play one more song for her, I'd play one that will never end," he whispered, his fingers slipping off the keys.

His aunt hugged him, and he leaned into her, feeling tears in his eyes. He hadn't meant to. He didn't want to cry. Yet, playing the piano had brought back all his memories at once, and the things he'd thought he'd gotten over where swirling around him, as deafening as an orchestra. Nick shook himself, and he pulled himself free of the embrace, meeting her eyes.

"I miss her."

"I know, Nick," Aunt Anna replied, and her eyes were sad, so very sad. "I do as well. Just know that she'd be so proud of you, of the king you've become."

"I'd rather have her than make her proud," he whispered, and a tear ran down his cheek. "I'm trying, and it's hard, but I'm…"

"You're doing your best, and that's all you can do. No monarch takes the throne and is instantly the best ruler to ever rule. There are growing pains that come with the job. You are a good king, Nick, and with time, you will be a great king."

"I'm only sixteen."

"None of us planned for you to inherit the throne this young, Nick," said Aunt Anna, and her grief was clear for him to see. "It is what it is, and you're doing the best you can, and I'm proud. Yesterday, you did the hardest thing a monarch could do, and whilst the theatrics were likely not needed, they sent an important message to your nobles."

"Yesterday, you said that I acted rashly."

Aunt Anna sighed. "Nick, in many ways, I still see you as the boy who'd climb into my lap at the dinner table and steal my sausages. I have known you since you were born, and it's not that I disapprove of what you do as king, it's that I don't see a king ordering executions. When I look at you, I see my nephew, and it hurts to see you forced to grow up so soon."

Nick swallowed, and he hugged her. His mother was gone, and his father was never there, but he'd always had Aunt Anna. Like his mother, she'd been a constant in his life, steering and guiding him as best she could, and in some ways, he could go to her with the things he didn't want his mother to know. And, even now, as it all fell down and he picked up the pieces, he still had her, his mother's right hand, the woman who'd been all but a second mother to him.

"I know you had the servants bring the piano to my new room," he said. "Thank you."

"It was no trouble," she replied, and she smiled wanly. "The truth is, the entire castle is lighter for hearing their king play again."

Then, she rose from the bench, and she swallowed. He looked at her, confused, but she cleared her throat, and a trio of guardsmen walked into his room, carrying a long frostbitten chest with them. Without a word, they set it down upon the floor, and Aunt Anna shut the door as they left.

"This… it was never my place to give this to you, and your mother always intended to wait for you to turn twenty-one, but your father and I spoke before he left," she said, her voice catching in her throat. "You're ready, Nick."

"This… Aunt Anna?" he asked, rising to his feet and glancing at the chest. "Is this? Is this what Renata and the De Vils broke into the castle for?"

 _What was it?_ It was something to do with his father, he knew, but he still didn't know what it was. All Jack Frost owned were the clothes on his back and Twinetender, his crooked staff. There weren't many trinkets or relics that belonged to his father, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't discern what it was.

Aunt Anna laid a hand upon the chest, and it hummed. She closed her eyes, and mist poured from between her lips as the room grew cold.

"By the will of Jackson Overland Frost, I, Anna Bjorgman of Arendelle, release the seal."

The chest clicked, and the frost shifted as the lid swung open. Hurriedly, Nick peered in, and his eyes grew wide. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked up at his aunt, who simply nodded in reassurance.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached into the chest. Closing his hands upon the staff, he raised it up, and the second his fingers closed around it, power surged through his veins. He cried out, but he couldn't let go, and cold poured from him, until he felt chips of ice in his heart. Aunt Anna exclaimed, looking alarmed, but it all fell away, and he was on his knees, gripping the staff as the cold consumed him.

No.

He pushed back, forcing the cold to return to the staff, and it hummed in his hands. The sleek black metal curled into a triple trellis at the end, and the staff was tipped with a diamond blade, gleaming with moonlight. Even without reading the words inscribed upon the haft, he knew what this was, and he would not let it best him.

 _It is mine by birthright._

The staff challenged his words, and he pushed back harder. The moonlight gleamed, frost spiralling from the diamond, and he yelled as shards of ice dug into his palms. Then, as quickly as it had started, the staff grew silent in his hands, and he shakily took a deep breath. The words upon the haft glowed as he rose to his feet, and he gave his aunt a reassuring smile as he leaned upon the staff.

 _Nightlight, bright light. Sweet dreams I bestow. Sleep tight, all night. Forever, I will glow._

"The Diamond Lance of Nightlight," he whispered. "My father wielded this in the first battle with Pitch Black during the Dawn Age, when Tsar Luna was still a toddler. He fought the armies of the Nightmare King single-handedly, and he gave his life to seal Pitch away."

"I always wondered," said Aunt Anna. "I never thought… they say the diamonds are forged from the tears of Tsar Luna himself."

Nick nodded, and he took a deep breath. Walking forward, he made his way to the balcony, and he raised the staff to the moon. _Nightlight._ The Guardian of Tsar Luna himself. He knew the story, and it was an old one, lost to all but those who'd been there. And, there had only been three: Tsar Luna. Pitch Black. And his father, who'd lost his life in the battle and spent ten thousand years lost in shadow, trapped beside Pitch Black, until at last Tsar Luna had freed him and given him a second chance as a human.

A human boy who'd saved his sister from drowning, only to drown in turn before rising before the light of the full moon.

"Thank you, Dad," he said, and a breath of frigid wind teased at his hair. A chorus of snowflakes fell around him, and the moon glowed overhead. Taking a deep breath, he raised the staff, and the blizzard answered, eager to be reunited with him at last. All his powers, all of them, came swirling back, and he kicked off his shoes as he rose into the air, letting the frozen winds encircle him.

For the first time since Amoré, since his staff had broken, Nick felt whole again.


	35. The Prince of the Dream

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty**

 **Prince of the Dream**

* * *

"I'm just going to come out and say that I am very uncomfortable about being your guinea pig," said Ali, letting out a long-suffering and appropriately dramatic sigh as he lay back on the chaise lounge. "What if you put me into a dream that never ends?"

Christopher frowned, glancing down at his friend. He hadn't thought of that. Before Amoré, he'd always assumed that he'd had complete control over his Dreamtouch, but he'd been wrong. Jess had been rather clear, for once, in her explanations. Metaphorically speaking, he could theoretically move a mountain, but right now, all he could do was lift a pebble. Well, maybe she hadn't been completely clear since his powers didn't involve geokinesis, but he'd gotten the general gist of what she'd been trying to say.

"Well, we could just hope that it's a good dream?" he said, gnawing at his lip. His nerves were acting up, and Ali's words hadn't helped in the slightest, because now he was afraid of more than just messing up.

What if something did go wrong and he did turn Ali into Sleeping Beauty, only this time, without the little loophole of it being a curse?

"Tsar Luna, I'm just joking," said Ali, looking up at him, though the bravado in his tone didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"We don't know that," said Christopher. "Maybe this is a bad idea."

Turning away from Ali, he glanced around the room, looking for something to distract him. They were in his friend's bedroom, and whilst it was quite large, it was also rather minimalist, which had always surprised him. There was the bed, which was large enough for four people to sleep in, and the only other pieces of furniture in the room where the couches beside the balcony doors, the cluttered desk in the corner, and a few chests of drawers. There was a screen in the corner, blocking off the door to the prince's bathroom.

This was not to say that Ali's room was bland. The curtains were bright red, and the walls were covered in portraits and tapestries. On the first night they'd gotten drunk together, just looking at the floor had made Christopher disoriented, because whilst most of the castle was hardwood or carved stone, Ali's bedroom floor was covered in a tiled mosaic.

He was delaying, he knew, and he heard Jess getting irritated from where she sat across from them, her feet up on the armrest of her loveseat. Rajah was asleep at the foot of the bed, his large head resting on his massive paws, and the sight only made Christopher more nervous. What if he did somehow harm Ali? Everyone knew how devoted the tiger was to the Prince of Agrabah. He'd lose his friend, and then Rajah would likely eat him to avenge his master.

"Listen, are we going to do this or not? Because, if you're too chicken, I have other places to be," said Jessica.

Christopher sighed, and he turned. Shooting a quick glare in her direction, he walked back to Ali and perched at the edge of the chaise lounge, just above his friend's head. Cautiously, he placed his fingers on Ali's temples, and he tried to focus on a dream. Something small and fleeting, and for the first time in his life, his mind was blank. It just felt wrong and invasive trying to force a dream into his friend's head, especially since Ali hadn't done a single thing that would warrant something like this. It was strange, because he'd never had a problem before, and though he'd used his power sparingly, he'd always been able to call a dream to mind at a moment's notice.

But, he couldn't violate a _friend's_ mind like that.

"Is it over yet?" asked Ali, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Did I miss it?"

"I haven't started," said Christopher, rolling his eyes. "It's… My Dreamtouch is a self-defence mechanism. I've never tried using it like this, and I've never used it on someone I actually like."

"So, what you're saying is you just need a bit of motivation," said Jessica, hopping to her feet and marching towards them. Kneeling beside the couch, she placed a hand on Ali's chest and grinned. "So, give him a dream, or…"

Ali yelped, jerking away as though stung, and she winked. Christopher stared at her, at a loss for how to respond, and he gritted his teeth. How dare she? It wasn't Ali's fault that he had issues with his Dreamtouch, and there was no reason for her to hurt him.

"Are you insane?" asked Ali, batting her hand away. "I'm wearing metal. You don't use a shocking hex on someone wearing this much gold."

"Lose the anklets and bracelets if you're scared." She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Besides, that was barely a burst of static. Stop being dramatic. Now, Christopher, give him a dream, or I'll shock him again."

Ali looked up pleadingly, and Christopher narrowed his eyes. _No._ He snapped out a hand, catching Jessica in the shoulder, and he forced the first dream that came to him into her mind. For a second, she seemed to realize what he'd done, and then she slumped to the ground, her eyes slipping shut.

"You wanted a dream?" he asked. "Well, there you go." Turning back to Ali, he patted his friend on the shoulder. "You okay?"

Ali was looking at him as though he'd just taken flight, and frankly, Christopher didn't care for it. It was difficult to target a friend, it always had been, because that just felt wrong to him. But, though he'd been warming to Jessica since meeting her, she had just crossed a line, and he didn't have many lines to cross in the first place. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm himself, because guilt was already beginning to take the place of his anger, and the dream he'd forced into Jessica's mind had not been a pleasant one.

"That was probably not what she expected," said Ali, raising an eyebrow as he sat up. "She'll be okay, right?"

"She'll be out for an hour at most," he replied, his voice a little shaky. "I'm sorry. I know she's your friend. I shouldn't have given her such a bad dream."

"You can do that?" asked Ali, his eyebrow rising higher until it disappeared behind his bangs. "I didn't know your power went both ways."

Christopher sighed, taking a seat beside his friend. "I… I can knock you out with any dream I happen to call to mind, and believe me, it's just based on how creative I can be. It's not difficult for my mind to go to a dark place, honestly. I don't like it. I really don't like it. I pushed too far a long time ago, when one of the serving girls in Renvale kept pushing my buttons, mocking me until I snapped. It wasn't pretty."

Ali whistled, and he reached out to clap him on the shoulder. It was comforting, and for a long time, they sat there in silence, and if he was being honest with himself, Christopher almost forgot Jessica was there. Perhaps, had he not been so caught up in himself, he'd have suggested carrying her to the bed rather than leaving her knocked out on the floor… but a part of him didn't want to extend her that courtesy.

She'd hurt Ali, and it may have just been a slight zap, but it had riled him more than anything else could have. He didn't have much of anything left. His sister and father were dead, and his mother was, well, she was dead to him. His kingdom was under the rule of Regina Queen. His girlfriend had left as soon as the going had gotten tough. His horse was in Corona, and for all he knew, Dreamer had been caught up in Gothel's curse. He still had Pooh and the others, but for the first time in his life, he also had a human friend, someone his own age, someone who accepted him wholeheartedly and he could depend on.

And, Christopher refused to let the people he cared about get hurt. They were all he had left.

"You know, maybe we're going about this the wrong way," said Ali, pursing his lips. "She means well, she does, but maybe getting a rise out of you isn't the way to go about this."

"You think?" asked Christopher with a snort.

"What I'm trying to say is, maybe you'd be more open to trying to work your dreams on me if I wanted them?" Ali looked pensive, and before Christopher could reply, Ali was speaking again. "I'm going to tell you something, and it's never to be repeated, ever."

"Of course," he replied, and he left the rest unsaid. That Ali trusted him that much didn't need to be said, and nor did the fact that it meant the world to him.

"Every night, when I close me eyes, I have nightmares," said Ali, flushing and looking away. "I wake up in a cold sweat every few hours, and I can't get back to sleep afterwards. It's why I've been drinking so much since, well, since the plagues. The alcohol helps me sleep. It's still not enough to keep the nightmares away."

"Do you want to talk about them?" asked Christopher, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his friend's knee. The room was quiet, very quiet, and out the corner of his eye, he could see Rajah watching them with closely, as if waiting to see if his master would be okay.

"What's there to talk about?" asked Ali. "It's the same thing every night, more or less. There's a cradle rocking in my bedroom, and I'm walking to it, but I never reach it. And, I hear the same voice, and it's a kid's voice, telling me how I failed, how I couldn't protect my own girlfriend and child, and then the floor gives way and I'm falling. That's usually when I wake up."

"Usually?"

"Some nights it's worse." Ali shrugged. "Sometimes, when I think I've woken, I find myself unable to move, and everything hurts. Then, I realized I'm still dreaming, because Aquaria's sitting at my bedside holding my hand, and there's a hooded figure coming up behind her. I watch, over and over again, night after night, as he cuts my kid out of her, and then he turns to me and stabs me until I'm awake."

Ali shuddered, closing his eyes. He reached for his blade, twisting it between his fingers, and Christopher could only watch, not knowing what to say or do, because how did you react to something like that? It was more than just new ground for him. It was new ground for anyone.

"I can't even blame Aquaria, because she saved my life. It was a situation that had no winning gambit. Either I died along with my entire kingdom, or my kid died, and I don't even know what I'd have done in her shoes. I never knew the kid. I never even knew we were expecting. And, it still eats me up, and the nightmares never end. What I'm saying, Christopher, is that it would be nice to have a pleasant dream again."

Christopher swallowed, and he closed his eyes. He'd never used his Dreamtouch like this before, and he never used it against someone who didn't have it coming, because it was more than a gift from the Fairy Godmother. It was his weapon, and you didn't turn a weapon on your friends.

But, if he could give Ali some respite from his pain… They'd have to start small, and no amount of his Dreamtouch would dispel the nightmares entirely, but it was still worth trying. His fingers flickered, and a dozen of the sweetest dreams he could muster danced around his palms, ready and waiting to enter Ali's mind with a single touch.

"I can do that," he said softly.

* * *

"You need to go easier on him," said Ali, frowning as he walked into the drawing room with Rajah at his side.

He was not usually one to take a serious tone, but the fact of the matter was that he was already having misgivings about inviting Jessica into the palace to be Christopher's magic teacher. She was rough and abrasive, and she lived life by her own rules, all of which made her clash with his friend quite often, and the tension had only escalated after she'd been knocked out a few days ago. Usually, he was enough to keep the peace, but the weekend was coming, and he wouldn't be in the castle for a few days.

Well, he could take them with him, but that would put a bit of a damper on his plans.

Jessica looked up from where she sat beside the coffee table, setting down the book she'd been reading. Her eyes flashed as she leaned back in the armchair, and she pursed her lips. Crossing one leg over the other, she raised an eyebrow.

"You're too soft," she replied. "Using magic is like playing with fire, and if he keeps whining instead of working on his skills, he'll get burned."

"He already got burned," retorted Ali. "Amoré nearly killed him, and I'm not a master magician, but maybe that's got something to do with him being hesitant."

"So? He survived, didn't he? The next time, he might not be so lucky."

"You don't get it, do you?" asked Ali, sitting across from her and shaking his head. Reaching out to stroke Rajah's head as his tiger laid down beside him, he took a few seconds to calm himself. "Christopher's spent his entire life being forced to do things that he doesn't want to, and now that he has control over his own life, he isn't going back to how things used to be. Surely you, of all people, would understand that?"

She glared at him, and her hands trembled. A tinge of green stained her skin, and she hurriedly stuffed her hands into her pockets, looking away. _Still self-conscious about that, huh?_ Ali studied her, knowing she hated to be reminded of her home that was located somewhere over the rainbow, but also knowing that this had to end.

"Your point?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Just go easier on him," repeated Ali, rolling his eyes. "It wouldn't kill you to try and work with him, would it?"

Jessica opened her mouth to speak, but then her eyes widened. Rising to her feet, she grasped her book in one hand and her glass in the other, inclining her head in the direction of the door. Ali frowned, making to turn around, but his unasked question was answered quickly enough.

"Sultan Aladdin," she said, and just like that, she marched out the room.

Ali rolled his eyes before turning to his father, who looked rather amused. Closing the door behind him, Aladdin walked over, patting him on the shoulder as he passed him, and then he took a seat on the armchair that Jessica had just vacated. Propping his feet up on the table, his father whistled, and Rajah wandered over, nuzzling up against the Sultan's leg, and Ali rolled his eyes at the betrayal.

"Dad," he said, wondering what this was about. "I thought you'd be busy with Mum and the nobles the entire day?"

"As it turns out, I'm very inept at dealing with the nobles," said Aladdin with a grin. "Your mother decided I'd be more helpful elsewhere."

Ali snorted. They were the same, his father and him. Both of them had no patience for the power squabbles that were omnipresent when it came to the nobility, and they had even less patience when it came to empty platitudes and the long hours of negotiations and talks that occurred whenever a noble came over for so much as a cup of tea. It was rather lucky, Ali thought, that he'd started drinking young, because when he was Sultan, he'd likely need it to cope with the nonsense.

"And, I'm here to ask when you intended to tell me about the trip you were taking this weekend?"

"I didn't think you knew about that," said Ali, running a hand through his hair. "I was going to mention it at dinner. It's not that big of a deal. I think the sea air would do me good, and you know how I love Balbadd."

"Oh, is that what we're calling Queen Aquaria now?" asked Aladdin, a twinkle in his eyes. "The sea air? I think she might take offense to that."

"Can't slip anything by you, can I?" asked Ali, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I'm meeting Aquaria in Balbadd. With Ursula pushing in on all fronts, she can't be too far away from her kingdom, and I can't go underwater anyway, so well, The Port of Balbadd it is."

His father studied him, scratching at his head as he did so. Honestly, Ali didn't see the issue. He had no duties that would keep him in the castle, and a royal visit to one of the cities of his kingdom may very well help morale, which was rather low after the plagues. And, he's be going on Carpet, meaning the journey was short and safe, and if anything bad did happen, he'd be able to fly back to the castle in a matter of hours.

And, he missed Aquaria, more than he cared to let on. He hadn't seen her since his brief stay in Aquitania and exchanging letters with her just wasn't the same, especially considering what she was going through. He wanted to be with her, he did, but now more than ever he was feeling the strain of being the heirs of two very different kingdoms. She had just lost her mother, and she was at war… and there was nothing he could do.

"If it helps you sleep better at night, take all the time you need. Agrabah will still be standing when you return," said Aladdin, and Ali snapped around as though he'd just been stung. _How had his father known?_ He'd told nobody save for Christopher, and his friend would never have betrayed his trust.

"Don't look at me like that," continued Aladdin, waving a hand through the air. "I do come to check on you at night, you know, since the plagues and the _incident_ with Aquaria. Just to make sure you've actually made it to the bed and covered yourself properly rather than pass out on the floor."

"You make me sound like a terrible drunk."

"I call them as I see them, and it doesn't take a genius to notice how many casks of beer and bottles of wine we've been going through since you've gotten back from Amoré," said Aladdin, shaking his head. "I won't judge, because you're an adult now, but you know I don't approve of drowning your problems in alcohol."

"It's just a few cups to help me sleep," Ali argued, pursing his lips.

"Which is why I haven't pushed," said Aladdin, rising to his feet. "I've had my fair share of nightmares and sleepless nights, especially when I was your age and fresh from the fight with Jafar. That was a bad time. It was also nothing compared to the horrors you've had to deal with in the past few months. But, for your mother's sake, and my sake, try not to drink so much, okay?"

"Look, I—"

"When last did you run across the rooftops of Agrabah like you used to? How long has it been since you went flying over the desert? Can you remember the last time you asked me to go riding with you across the dunes? Nowadays, the only time you leave the castle is when you want to go to a tavern or club, and it's not healthy, Ali. So, go to see Aquaria. Talk to her. Visit Balbadd together. Remind yourself that there are other ways of dealing with stress than taking solace in a bottle."

With that, his father nodded and left the room, and Ali slumped back into his chair, rubbing at his temples. He wanted to argue, he did… but this was his father, and Sultan Aladdin knew just how to phrase his words to strike a chord in him. So, he'd do what his father said, and he'd try to remember what it was like before everything had fallen to pieces.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Jessica knocked on the door, hoping that this wasn't going to end with her knocked out on his bedroom floor. The dream he'd given her the last time had been unpleasant, to say the least, and as loathe as she was to admit it, she didn't want to consider what Christopher could do if he was truly pissed off with someone. Still, Ali's words weighed on her, and he'd actually raised a pretty good point.

In Oz, she'd been forced to be wicked, to live up to her mother's legacy, and she'd utterly hated it. When the opportunity had come for her to run, she'd taken it and fled, and she hadn't looked back, and she'd snapped the rainbow wand in half to make sure there would be no going back. Never. She'd never return to that hell, and well, maybe… just maybe, Christopher was the same.

She didn't like it, but she would be foolish to ignore it.

"Come in," he called.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Jessica turned the handle and entered the room. It was like most rooms in the palace, large and airy, but it was somewhat different as well. She frowned, looking around, trying to place what it was that felt off to her. The bed was made, and the books on the desk had been stacked quite neatly. There was a sketchpad on the desk, but it was closed, and the sticks of charcoal were stored in a small cup.

Christopher sat beside the window with an easel in front of him. In one hand he held a palette and, in the other, he held a paintbrush. There was a yellow teddy bear perched on his shoulder, and to her utter shock, the bear turned its head to look at her.

Still, something still felt off.

The room was barer that most, if anything, and that was when it clicked. There was nothing inherently wrong with the room itself, but instead, it was as though whoever was staying here hadn't really made themselves at home. If you stripped away the stuffed toys on the bed and the sketchpad on the desk, there'd be nothing to show this room was Christopher's… and to be honest, it reminded her of all the inns she'd stayed at over the years. They'd just been a place to sleep and nothing more, and they just temporary rather than home.

"Are you going to say something, or are you going to stare at my room a little longer?" asked Christopher, sounding vaguely annoyed. Well, she deserved that. They weren't really friends, and she had just come over uninvited.

"I came to apologise," she said stiffly. When he raised an eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. "Look, maybe I have been a bit too hard on you these past few days."

"Apology not accepted," said Christopher without batting an eye, and he turned back to his painting.

"Excuse me?" she asked, and for the first time since she'd met him, she felt her jaw drop. "I apologised. You _have_ to accept."

"No, I don't," he replied, shrugging. "I accepted a lot of apologies over the years, and none of them meant squat, because the people who said they were sorry would just do the same thing all over again. I'm not doing that anymore."

"Christopher, that's mean," said the bear, and at this, Jessica nearly toppled over in surprise. _It talked?_ Grasping onto a wall to steady herself, she glared, and to her further surprise, Christopher didn't react in the slightest. She grit her teeth as a tinge of green spread across her palms, and she stuffed them into her pockets, somehow growing more irritated than she had that morning.

"No, Pooh, it's not mean," said Christopher, glancing at the bear. "Why don't you go play with the others and make sure Roo hasn't flooded the bathroom?"

Grasping the bear by the paw, Christopher set him down on the floor, and the teddy padded over in the general direction of the bathroom, whistling as he went. Once the bear— _Pooh_ —had left the room, Christopher turned around in his chair, and he _smirked_.

"So, if you're really sorry, what are you going to do about it?"

Jessica glared. He was enjoying this, the bastard. Her temper flared, and she realized what he was doing. Yes, she had been sterner than usual when they'd been practising, and yes, she'd been grumpier than usual after he'd knocked her out, and yes, even if they'd been making slow progress, she'd wanted more and pushed harder than she usually would, but it had all been for his own good. He was powerful, she could tell that much, but he'd never get there if he held back all the time. And, if he wanted to be petty and try to get a rise out of her, then she'd hit right back. Oh, two could play at that game, and she could be her mother's daughter when she wanted to be.

"Well, maybe if you'd have made an effort to learn, I wouldn't have had to be so rough. Maybe it's just that you don't want to learn. Maybe you are just useless _._ "

Instantly, his expression morphed, and all traces of humour and banter slid away. Instead, his eyes glinted with anger, and his lips were pressed into a hard line. His fingers trembled and clenched, and there was a sharp snap as the paintbrush in his hand cracked, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I am not _useless_ ," he snarled, getting to his feet and letting the palette fall from his hands. "I put up with people telling me I was useless for a very long time, and I believed them. I'm not doing that anymore. I'm a lot of things. Useless is not one of them."

At first, she wanted to apologise again, but then an idea came to mind. Taking a step back, she surveyed him, thinking back to what she'd been able to glean from him and Ali so far. Yes, this was just what she needed from Christopher. _Push too hard and he'll push back._

 _Good…_ This was what she needed. Anger. Lots of anger.

"Oh? You could have fooled me," she said, feigning a smirk. "You struggle with the rudimentaries. You get your ass kicked during every training session. Your kingdom is under hostile rule. I can go on. The list is endless."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

For a minute, she thought he wouldn't do anything, and then she leapt out of the way as a whip of golden light lashed out in her direction. She gasped as she hit the ground, and then she rolled to the side as a second whip came slashing through the air. Christopher was glaring, his arm outstretched, and his fingers gleamed with his Dreamtouch. _Oh… maybe I pushed a little too far_ , she realized, because he didn't look angry anymore.

No, he looked completely and utterly furious, and then another whip came rushing in her direction.

"Enough," she said, raising a hand. A spiral rune appeared in front of her, catching the whip, and to her surprise, fine cracks spread across it. _Very powerful indeed._ "Christopher, I don't think you're useless after all."

For a split second, she thought he'd continue his assault, but then he shook his head, staring at his hand in disbelief. It gleamed with light, and the whips bound along his fingers, watching and waiting for his command. Cautiously, she raised her hands on either side of her head, staying behind her rune, and she nodded in his direction.

"You…"

"Knew you just needed some tough love," she said, taking a slight step back. "See, you're doing it, and you aren't bleeding all over the place this time, are you?"

He closed his eyes, clenching his fist to dispel the Dreamtouch. Swaying on his feet, he sank down onto his stool and leaned back against the wall behind him, taking several deep breaths. It was then that she realized he looked rather drained, and that he was covered in sweat. _Well, we all start somewhere, and at least this was actual progress._

"You okay?" she asked, tentatively approaching, the knowledge that he'd just tried to blast her into another nightmare or three hanging in the forefront of her mind.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes flickering open. "I'm not sure whether to thank you or throw you out, to be honest. That was cruel."

"You have to be a little cruel to be kind," she replied, finally coming to stand beside him. "I really am sorry for calling you useless. You clearly aren't. It got the results, though, didn't it?"

"I suppose I'm sorry for the nightmare, in that case," he said, a faint smile spreading across his lips. "You were being a bit of a witch, though."

Just as she opened her mouth to bite back, his eyes closed and he fell to the side, his body going limp. Alarmed, she grasped him, straining slightly because despite being lean, he was rather tall, and she had a very slight build. As she held him up, she checked his vitals, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized he had just passed out.

"Let's just get you to bed, then," she said, shaking her head and remembering the days when she'd first begun to learn magic. It was always a rough ride for beginners, and expending too much energy whilst still learning control was a necessary evil when it came to learning your limits. In her expert opinion, he would likely be—"

"That would be nice," he said, sounding amused.

"You… you faker!" she exclaimed, dropping him like a rock. He groaned as he hit the floor, and she folded her arms, standing above him and pursing her lips. "I can't believe I was worried about you for a minute there."

"So you do care?" he said, and he was _laughing_ at her.

Flushing furiously, she fought down the urge to kick him in the side. He deserved it, the idiot. Making her worry like that. Knocking her out a few days ago. Making her feel guilty about pushing too hard in the first place. Being a cheeky bastard. Being smug about it. Tsar Luna, it had just been a week since she'd arrived in Agrabah, and he was already driving her to insanity.

"Just because you're annoying does not mean I want you to _die_ ," she said, rolling her eyes.

He laughed, and she clenched her fists, shaking in indignation as she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her as hard as she could. They'd see who was laughing louder during tomorrow's training session.

* * *

Aquaria breathed out a heady sigh as she sank against the pillows, and for the first time in months, she felt her worries slip away. Things were not going well for her kingdom, not in the slightest, and trying to wrest control of the seas from Ursula was like trying to grasp a sword by the blade. The sea did not take kindly to having a master, but when her mother had passed, the sea witch had acted more quickly than she could have predicted.

Soon, the day would come when she was forced to face Ursula directly, but before that day came, she needed her Desert Fox.

Reaching out a hand, she drew small circles across Ali's chest, a faint smile spreading across her face as she took in the way he looked at her. His hair was unbound, spilling out beneath him like a sheet, and it was ridiculous how she could probably use it for a blanket if she tried. It was tangled from the frenzy of their love-making, and he'd whine like a baby when she eventually got around to combing it for him, but she didn't care. His hair was ridiculously long and completely impractical, but she loved it anyway. She sighed. The world was coming apart at the seams and the storm raged all around her, but his arms had always been her calm, even after all they'd been through.

The inn they were in was a quaint place on the shores of Balbadd, and if she looked out the window, she would be able to see the ocean. The waves pounded the shore, and the currents whirled in all directions, straining as both she and sea witch pulled in opposite directions. The port had been deserted when she'd arrived, but he'd been waiting for her, and a single glance at his smile had been enough to send her leaping into his arms.

They'd barely made it into the room before clothes were being shed and her lips were on his.

"How long has it been?" he asked, pressing his lips to her brow. "I've missed being with you."

"Since before you were ill with the plagues," she replied, drawing herself closer to him. "I've missed this as well."

"I suppose this comes with being the consort to a queen," he said. "Your parents saw each other once a week at most, didn't you say?"

"I think that's what hurts my father most," she said, his words shattering the brief moment of peace. "Mother and he put their kingdoms first for so long, and now it's too late to make up for all the time they lost whilst doing so."

"How is your father taking everything?"

Rolling over and propping herself up on her elbows, she arched her back, wincing slightly at the tightness in her belly as she did so. The thick scar that ran below her navel had pulled her skin taut, and stretching, something that had once been so easy, could now be rather painful at times. She sighed. It was her penance, she knew, for her sins, but that did not make it any easier.

"He's… withdrawn," she said, shaking her head. "Mother's death hit him harder than I'd have thought, and he's, I don't know how to say it. Depressed, I suppose? He hardly eats or sleeps, and he spends most of his day gazing out across the sea from his balcony. Things may be easier for him if my fool of a brother hadn't run off on another escapade, but there's been no word from Caspian, wherever he is."

As she spoke, she felt herself getting angry. Caspian had always been immature and reckless, but never had she thought he could be this irresponsible and heartless, not to her, but to their father. Their mother had _died,_ and neither she or her father had received so much as a letter. If it was anyone else in the world, she'd suspect that something was amiss, but she knew her brother, and she knew what a black-hearted bastard he could be. _You wanted Atlantica, and you never got over not being able to lift the trident, did you? Small wonder. You were never worthy._ This was not the first time Caspian had done a runner, only to turn up a few weeks or months later after having spent his time cooped up with his new love affair.

He'd missed their grandfather's ascension to Olympus as well, and though their mother had forgiven him, Aquaria never had. There had been a lot of things she'd forgiven her brother for over the years, but there were three things she never could: King Triton's ascension, mother's funeral, and the way he'd spoken about the child she'd lost.

"Your brother is… difficult."

"He's a bastard is what he is," snapped Aquaria. "I forgave him a lot, but this… Ali, he didn't even think Mother's last rites were important enough for his presence. You know, I could actually use his help right now. His powers could actually make a difference in the fight with Ursula, but does he care? No, he doesn't give a shit about anything that doesn't benefit him, and you know what, screw him. Father and I have managed this long without him, and we'll do the rest."

Ali looked pained, and he sighed, reaching up to stroke the hair out of her eyes. She took a deep breath as he did so, and she swallowed, letting him soothe her with his touch.

"I don't hate him. Not even after what he said to me. I feel sorry for him," said Ali. "I don't know. For all we know, he could be hurting just as much as everyone else. You know how he is, 'Ria."

"A coward," she said, rolling her eyes. "When there's a problem, no matter how small, he runs off to enjoy himself instead, and when the problem's over, then he's back as if nothing ever changed."

"Let's not talk about him anymore, then," said Ali, running his fingers through her hair. "Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, and I didn't know how to bring it up. Well, I have now, so I suppose I'll just get it over with."

He frowned, looking rather nervous, and he began to fidget with his hair. Closing his eyes and leaning back against the pillows, he took a deep breath, and she felt fingers link with hers. Accepting them, she waited for him to speak, apprehension building, but the question he posed next hit her to the core.

"Do you still have nightmares about that night?" he asked, still not looking at her. "Does it keep you up?"

She didn't need to ask which night he was referring to, because she knew there was only one that would haunt them both like this. Aquaria swallowed, feeling a shiver run down her spine and a phantom pain in her belly as she drew herself as close to him as possible, resting her head on his chest. She heard his heart beating as she lay there, and it was strangely comforting. An arm snaked around her, holding her close, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

"All the time," she whispered. "I don't think I'll ever not be haunted by it. The only thing that keeps me going is _this_. Knowing that the sacrifice was what kept your heart beating."

"And I'm haunted for the exact opposite." He sighed. "I feel guilty that my heart is beating because our child's isn't."

For a long moment, they just lay there, holding each other, and she didn't know whether she wanted to cry or scream. In the end, she settled for tightening her hold on him, and she blinked away the tears that welled up in her eyes. What had been done couldn't be undone, and now the only thing left to do was pick up the pieces as best they could.

"When my mother heard what happened, she was there for me in those few days before she left for the Imperium," said Aquaria, and this time, the tears did come. "She knew what it was like in a way, because she'd already lost Melody when I was still a toddler and Caspian was an infant. I miss her. I wear her crown and sit her throne, but I'm still reeling, and my kingdom is collapsing around me. I'm fighting a war on every front, and Ursula is relentless in her assault. And I'm fighting a battle inside me as well. Because, I'm glad I saved you and furious at myself for paying the price all at the same time, and it's everything, all at once, driving me insane. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up before I give."

"You'll go on for as long as have to," he replied, running a hand through her hair and holding her close. "Because you're Aquaria, and you're one of the strongest woman I know. I'm hurting, I am, and I'm glad to be alive and guilty for the price all at once, and it hurts, it does, but I don't know… My father said that all wounds heal in time as long as you persevere through the hard times, and this is our storm, Aquaria. We'll weather it together, the same as always, okay?"

"I love you, Ali," she whispered.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, and he drew the sheets up around them to keep off the chill. Shifting her slightly so he was comfortable, he ran a hand down her side.

"I love you too, Aquaria."

* * *

Christopher shrugged out of his shirt as he stepped into the training room, tossing it onto the bench as he began to stretch. Ali was away for the weekend, but just because his sparring partner wasn't around didn't mean he could slack off. One day, it would be time to reclaim his kingdom, and he wasn't going to accomplish that unless he was at peak performance. Minutes passed by as he worked out the stiffness in his limbs, and the sun was rising by the time he was done. Taking a deep breath, he walked across the room and dragged over one of the training dummies.

If he was being honest with himself, he was quite pleased with the progress he'd made over the past month. He'd always kept himself rather fit with daily jogs around the gardens of Renvale, but now, he was able to sprint without finding himself out of breath. For the first time in his life, there was actual definition on his arms and torso, and he was confident that if he kept this up, his muscles would be quite nice. Squaring off against the dummy, he lashed out with his fist, and the dummy spun. Instantly, he blocked the swing and jabbed out again, already preparing for the dummy's other arm.

It was an intricate device, and the wood pieces were independent of each other. Perhaps if they had dummies like this in Renvale, he'd have bothered training in private, where nobody could laugh at his attempts. His first sparring session with Ali had been humiliating, and the other man had run circles around him, and all he'd gotten from that session were a few bruises.

Maybe he'd never be as good as Ali, but at least he could block his friend's attacks and actually land a few hits in these days. He was picking up the rudimentaries of swordplay as well, but his old instructor had been right. Swords just didn't feel right in his hands, so he was still waiting for Ali to come up with an alternative. Knives at least, Christopher could use, though he didn't quite have the technique of throwing them down just yet.

Still, he was pleased with his progress. If someone had told him he'd be capable of holding his own against Prince Ali, who was rather well known for his skill at combat, he'd have scoffed and rolled his eyes. It felt good to accomplish something he'd once believed impossible.

When his session was finally over, he was slick with sweat and panting for breath, and he nodded to himself as he doubled over, balancing his palms on his knees as he recovered. He'd gone a bit longer than he'd initially planned, and despite the thick padding on the dummy, his hands were a bit sore.

Christopher started as the sound of clapping echoed through the room, and he turned, eyes widening as he caught sight of Jessica leaning in the doorway. She raised an eyebrow, and inclined her head in his direction, and for the life of him, he couldn't tell if she was mocking him or actually impressed.

"To what do I owe this displeasure?" he asked, drawing himself up to his full height. He wasn't quite sure what it was about her that made him want to push her buttons, but it wasn't as though he was purposefully being mean. She pushed his just as often, even if she did it to help him.

"Actually, I didn't think you'd be here," she said. "With Ali gone, I'd have thought you'd have welcomed the break from getting your ass handed to you."

"I give as good as I get," he retorted, feeling slightly stung by her insinuation. "If you didn't think I'd be here, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm sure you do," she replied, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off her face. "And, what do you think? A girl needs to be able to take care of herself when she travels alone, and I've been getting a bit rusty what with all the luxury of a palace."

Marching across the room, she stepped into the sand pit and flicked her wrist. A purple rune appeared beneath the dummy, lifting it into the air and returning it to where it had been before he'd begun training. Stretching out her limbs, her smirk deepened, and she shifted into a defensive stance.

"You mind?" she asked with a wink.

"You're a girl," he said, caught off guard. "I can't hit a girl."

Almost as soon as the words left his lips, he felt remarkably stupid. If he said something like that to Alyssa or Aquaria, they'd both be rather offended, like as not, because they were both skilled combatants in their own rights. And, he was currently planning to one day take back his kingdom from Regina Queen, who was also female, and he'd probably have to hit her during the fight. Still, it was basically a rule. Princes didn't hit girls. It wasn't… noble.

He could already hear Ali lecturing him about nobility versus survival.

"Why not? I can hit you," she said, and as if to prove her point, she darted forward.

She was fast, but he had been expecting her to pull something like that. Catching her fist, he swung himself out of the way and threw her off balance, trying very hard not to actually counter her attack as he would had it been Ali.

"Not bad," she said, surprise evident in her voice. "Now, come on, I'm not made of paper. Let's go."

His eye widened as she lunged at him, and it was all he could do to block her swings. She was incredibly fast, but there wasn't much power behind her swings, or maybe it was just that he was so used to Ali hitting him that he wasn't quite feeling her attacks. Ducking out of the way, he swept out his leg, knocking her to the ground, and he swiftly placed a foot over her throat, making sure she stayed down.

"I win," he said.

She looked at him, her eyes wide, and she _whimpered._ How? He hadn't hurt her, had he? The sparring ring was a sand pit for a reason, and it was to prevent the people training on it from falling and getting hurt. Did swinging a leg out count as hitting? Had he hurt her ankles? Oh, bother. Pooh would never let him hear the end of it if he actually hurt a girl who hadn't currently been actively trying to kill him—which he supposed was the one time you could hit a girl.

A hand closed around his ankle and yanked, and he yelped as he went down, hitting the sand hard. Within seconds, she was pinning him down, straddling his waists and pinning his wrists beneath her knees. One hand was around his throat, the other on his chest, and he glared at her. _Cheater._

"Never let your guard down," she said. "When you're in a real fight, your opponent isn't going to submit because you knocked them over."

"Fine," he grumbled. "You win. Would you mind getting off me now?"

"Actually, you're rather comfortable," she said. "I might just stay a while."

He blushed, the realization of their current position sinking in, and he was well aware what this would look like if someone walked in right now. He was shirtless and sweaty, and she was sitting on his waist, looking very ruffled, and Tsar Luna above, she was laughing, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. Well, two could play at that game.

He pushed on her knees very hard, knocking her off balance, and her eyes widened in surprise as she fell backwards. Quickly, he hooked his ankles around her throat and rolled them over so that she was facedown in the sand before releasing her. Perching on her back with one hand wrapped around her legs to keep them still and the other pressed on the top of her back to keep her from getting up, he grinned.

"Never let your guard down," he teased. "When you're in a real fight, your opponent isn't going to submit because you knocked them over."

"Real funny," she said, lifting her head as much as she could and spitting sand out of her mouth. "I take it you like being on top."

He flushed deeper at her innuendo before climbing to his feet and turning away. Then, as he walked, he felt his harem pants slide down to his ankles, and he groaned as he realized the drawstring had been undone. She was laughing, and he was wearing the boxers that had honeybees on them, and why did the world hate him so much. _When had she?_ His cheeks burning, he yanked up his pants, and he turned to her.

"Hey, could you not do that?" he asked, and there was no humour in his voice as he spoke. Fun and games was one thing, but pantsing and humiliation was not. It really wasn't. He'd had more than enough of that in Renvale, and he wasn't going to be quiet and just let it happen to him anymore.

"Why so serious?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "It's just a joke. C'mon, you annoy me, but you can't deny we don't have fun prodding at each other."

"I don't mind the prodding that much," he said, sighing. Sinking to the ground, he crossed his legs under him. "Just, there's a line, you know? You push too far. It's fun banter and stuff for a while, and then you do something, and then it's always a joke or for my own good or something like that, and I don't know, maybe it's because you don't really know me and my story, but that isn't cute."

"Hey, I thought we were just having fun," she said, raising her hands. "You were mocking me a minute ago."

"It's not…" He sighed. How could he explain this properly. On one hand, he wasn't opposed to Jessica, because she wasn't the worst person he'd ever met, but she just didn't know how not to cross boundaries, and that was the problem. Christopher considered himself a pretty easy-going person for the most part, in spite of his trauma, but well, there were lines drawn for a reason, and whilst he was learning to get along with her and whatever strange sort of friendship he had with her, and though she was rather helpful with his magic, she was also just… she pushed too far, and that was the only way he could say it.

"I have had twenty years of people I tried to befriend pantsing me, mocking me, giving me wedgies, humiliating me, replacing my shaving cream with liquid wax, putting dead bugs in my bed, the works. I have had my mother who never gave a shit about what I wanted, and she was a nightmare. You have no idea. You really don't. Here's an example. She disapproved of me being vegetarian, and I've been since I was like four. So, once when I was ten, she forced me to eat chicken. It was the worst thing I've ever tasted, though I'm sure the cook actually did a good job. It was just, I couldn't get it down, and so I puked. She sent me to my room and I wasn't allowed to eat until the next evening so I'd learn my lesson for throwing up at the table. So, there's a big difference, _to me_ , between casual banter and mocking."

Jessica stared at him, looking rather surprised, and he rolled his eyes. He'd let her know exactly what a mess his childhood was on the first day they'd met, mostly because the alcohol had loosened his tongue quite a bit, and he wasn't sure why she was acting surprised now.

"My mother had me whip people," she said, shrugging, though her gaze was somewhat disquieted. "It's why I left home, basically. She wanted me to be like her. A wicked witch."

Almost instantly, she clammed up, looking as though she'd said too much, and her eyes flickered to him. Strange, he thought. It must be the light, but her skin looked vaguely green just now, as if it had been tinted with dye.

"Oh? Are we talking about your problems now?" Instantly, he wanted to kick himself, because this was the most he'd ever gotten out of Jessica about her past, because she usually clammed up when it came up. _How am I both so in need of sensitivity from people and also insensitive to others at the same time?_

"I suppose I deserve that," she said, chuckling wearily. "So, look, I do get what you're saying. I just… I don't know you, and I'm not the type to restrain myself, but I suppose I could try. So, maybe boundaries?"

"Boundaries would be nice," he said. "No pantsing, toilet dunks, mocking… no bullying, basically; I get that you're not doing it maliciously, but bad memories, okay, so none of that."

"I can do that," she said, climbing to her feet. "You'd better go bath and whatever. We'll meet for magic lessons after lunch, okay?"

"Okay," he said, nodding, glad that the boundaries had been established. He did enjoy her company, he really did, and he had a feeling he'd enjoy it more now that he had finally spoken up instead of just knuckling down under it all and tossing back a few barbs of his own. She was still rather annoying, and he doubted that she'd stop pushing his buttons in the near future, but well, it wasn't a bad sort of annoying, not when he really thought about it.

"And Christopher?" she called.

He turned, looking up. "Yeah?"

"Nice legs."

He flushed, and she laughed, and he shook his head. No, forget all of that. Her company was not enjoyable. She really just was annoying. She drove him insane and never failed to get a rise out of him, and that was incredibly irritating. She barged in unannounced, pushed him way too hard during his magic sessions, and she was very fond of making him blush.

Christopher sighed, because no matter how much he protested, he couldn't deny that at some level, he enjoyed the back-and-forth quite a bit. _Tsar Luna_ , he thought, _I really am desperate for friends, aren't I?_


	36. The Queen of Roses

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-One**

 **The Queen of Roses**

* * *

The going was hard, but Cornelius kept his head high and pushed onwards regardless. The land route from Arendelle to Corona was treacherous at the best of times, but in the throes of winter, it could only be described as hellish. The snow crunched beneath his boots, and his fingers were stiff within his gloves. His cousin had offered them mounts, but the people of Arendelle rode reindeer, which were rather unlike horses, despite the obvious similarities.

He knew, at the very least, because he'd learned to ride alongside Nick when they'd both been children, but he didn't think it right that he ride whilst his men slog through the snow on foot. Instead, he walked alongside them, between the hoarfrost-covered bushes and bare trees, and when night came, he slept in a tent that was as simple as theirs as well.

This was war, and there was no time for luxury. Everything that hadn't been essential had been left with their ships to lighten the load, and the reindeer that they had brought were simply there to pull the carts of provisions that an army of this size needed to keep afoot. It would just be a week or two at most now, anyway, and they'd reach Corona soon enough.

That, he knew, was when the real hardship would begin. War was hell, and though he'd never fought in one, he knew the horrors well enough. He'd been raised to rule, and the possibility of wars, famines, and all the other terrors of the real world had been part of his training. Many of the soldiers he ate with each night may not survive the coming battles, and, he couldn't be sure that he would either.

Alyssa walked at his side, and despite her smaller stature, she carried twice as much upon her back as he did. He had protested, but it had been in vain. His wife was strong as sin and could endure the strain of such a journey better than any man in his army, and she had simply rolled her eyes at him when hé d tried to lighten her load.

"Prince Cornelius," said one of the Arendellian scouts Nick had sent to guide them, falling into step beside him. "We are nearing the Giant's Pass."

"So soon?" he asked, pursing his lips, and his heart thudded in his chest. "We should be a few days off, if my calculations are correct."

"We saved time by cutting across the frozen lakes rather than going around," said the scout, frowning, and it was clear he disapproved of their actions. "And, as the mountain passes had not yet been closed by now, we saved three days when crossing the Frostfingers."

"Then, there is nothing more to say." Cornelius forced a smile to his face. "We'll cross the Giant's Pass at once. Ale—"

"It is best we make camp for the night," interjected Alyssa, and when he made to argue, she grasped his wrist, tightly enough that he took the hint. "Yarne, could you inform the captains that we wish to break, and that we will make the crossing come morning."

"Yes, Queen Alyssa," said the scout, inclining his head before slipping off into the crowd.

As soon as he'd gone, Cornelius rounded on his wife. Did she not understand their haste? They needed to leave, and they needed to leave now. There was no time.

"We need to press on," he said through gritted teeth. "The more time we lose, the harder it is for my father to hold his position, and the longer my mother spends as a prisoner. We have to make the crossing now."

"Fools rush in," she replied, shaking her head. "Once we cross the Giant's Pass, we'll find ourselves on Coronan soil, and your kingdom is not friendly territory. The men are exhausted, and a good night's rest will do them good if they're going to see battle tomorrow. And, you need to prepare yourself as well."

"I'm fine—"

"String your bow with the speed I know you can, and I'll agree to marching at once," she countered. "We've been on the road for two weeks, Cor, and if I'm ready to drop, then I can only imagine how much worse it is for the rest of you. Rest. We'll do Corona no good if we rush in unprepared and weary."

He looked at her, and his fingers trembled, because he knew she was right. His hands were stiff from the cold, and the task of stringing a bow took a deftness and dexterity, especially if he worked at his usual speed. His stomach growled, and his eyelids were heavy. Sighing, and knowing he didn't have to like it, he nodded.

"I never thought I'd see the day when I was the one advising caution," she said, a wan smile on her lips as she helped him undo the straps of his backpack. Around them, the soldiers were forming a perimeter, and tents were being set up, and there were relieved glances on the faces of many.

"I suppose it's good I have you to talk some sense into me," he said, returning her smile despite his irritation at having to waste another day.

"Oh, you've done it for me enough over the years," she replied.

Their tent was pitched within minutes, and by the time an hour had passed, half-a-hundred fires dotted their camp, and the air was thick with the smells of the thick stick that the scouts were so adept at making. Torches glowed along the perimeter, and for once, it wasn't snowing. Still, the wind was cold, and he kept close to his fire as he waited for dinner, the scent of which was bringing back a thousand memories. Whenever Uncle Kristoff had taken Nick and him to visit the troll village, his uncle had always cooked the same stew. Elk, potatoes, onions, and whatever other vegetables were in season.

He'd sit with his cousin and they'd listen to their uncle's stories, and he'd had a lot of them, though most were made up. Still, they hadn't known it then, and even when the white winds had howled around them and it grew so cold that his teeth would chatter uncontrollably, they'd always felt safe and warm. Cornelius sighed. He wanted to go back to those days, when everything had been as it should be, but the world had spun and left him reeling.

"Tell me a story, Cor," said Alyssa, taking a seat beside him and leaning her head on his shoulder. "Just like you used to when we were kids."

"You already know them all," he said, not sure what she was trying to do, because this was new. She'd always hated his stories, and they'd gotten into numerous arguments about the validity of his tales over the years, all of which had usually ended with Nick tossing a pair of snowballs at the both of them.

"That's never stopped you before," she said. "Come on now, just one story."

"Okay." He sighed. "I heard this one in a tavern known as _The Snuggly Duckling_ a few years ago, and I promise, it's all true."

She snorted but remained silent, and he began to tell the tale. As he spoke, he felt the tension life of his shoulders, and soon enough, he was so caught up in his story that he had all but forgotten the troubles that weighed upon his mind.

* * *

Crossing the Giant's Pass was something Alyssa could have gone her entire life without having to do.

In Amoré, they called this pass the Devil's Staircase, and they did so for good reason. It was a thin strip of land running across the bay, so narrow that a group had to walk in single-file. On either side of the land bridge was a sheer drop into the sea, which roiled and crashed against the sheer cliffs. There were skeletons in the water, she knew, the bodies of thousands who had failed in making the crossing, and she was determined to not be one of them.

Not now. Not that she had so much to protect.

She kept one hand on her husband's belt to steady him. Cornelius was jittery, and who could blame him? This may not be the deck of a ship, and he'd been fine until they'd heard the roaring. Beneath them, in the caverns carved into the strip of land, the waves tossed and turned, creating an eternal din. The scouts from Arendelle had gone on ahead, surefooted on the pass as they were on ice, and they'd paid the sound no mind. Her husband, on the other hand, had paled until he was whiter than milk, and his breath came in short pants.

"Breathe, Cornelius," she whispered, keeping her voice low. It would do neither of them any good for the soldiers behind her to hear how unnerved their future king was by the sea. "Breathe. One foot in front of the other, and just keep going. We're halfway there already."

He nodded, and he maintained his pace. The wind was picking up, and Alyssa was thankful she had forgone wearing her cloak despite the biting cold. It was difficult to keep her balance as it was, and she didn't a veritable mountain of fabric billowing around her. Too much depended on her, and she was not being vain in saying so. Cornelius needed _her_ , because his panic attacks had been getting worse the closer they'd gotten to the sea, and she was likely the only thing keeping him composed as they made the crossing.

And, there was something else, something she was trying not to think off right now, yet it clouded her mind all the same. Her monthly blood was late, and whilst she wanted to believe it was merely the stress and strain of the past few months coupled with the long weeks she'd spent in the form of the beast, she knew, deep down, that it wasn't. Cornelius was her calm in the chaotic world, and they made love often to simply enjoy the other and forget everything else around them, and whilst they had been careful… they hadn't been as careful as they should have. She sighed. There was no reason to worry, not yet. Hopefully, she could take a potion in the first Coronan village they reached to be sure, but until then, worrying would get her nowhere.

It would have to wait. What mattered now was crossing the Devil's Staircase.

A small pile of pebbles skittered off the edge, caught by the wind, and Cornelius flinched, his entire body going rigid. _Not now. No, not now._ Alyssa grasped his shoulder with her free hand, squeezing gently to let him know that she was there.

"Breathe, Cornelius," she whispered. "We're fine. Just breathe. Just a little bit further."

Slowly, he nodded, and he put one foot in front of the other and kept walking. Taking a furtive look behind her to make sure nobody had noticed, Alyssa followed him, keeping one hand firmly on his belt. If he stumbled, she was more than strong enough to pull him back up, and she just had to trust in her own strength to safeguard them both on this journey. _The same strength that scarred him._ She shook her head. No, that was behind her. She couldn't lose herself now.

If she looked back, if she let herself remember Amoré, even for a moment, then she'd be lost.

Suddenly, there was a scream, and Cornelius froze again. Desperately, Alyssa held onto him as she turned her head just in time to see a trio of soldiers go plummeting over the edge and disappear into the sea. The rock beneath them had given way, and she gasped at the sight of the yellow mist clinging to the pass. _Where in Tsar Luna's name did that come from?_ A loud crack echoed through the air, and an entire sheet of the cliff slid into the sea, and the spray rose up into the air, high enough to splash her cheeks.

"Your Majesty," urged the soldier behind her, his voice high and panicked. "Run!"

Without hesitation, she started to run, slipping past Cornelius and dragging her behind her. He was stiff as a board, but he was keeping up with her, praise the Godmother. When she turned back, his eyes were wild and panicked, and she simply tightened her hold on his wrist and dragged him on. _Breathe. Just breathe and follow me._

More screams, and the soldiers were running behind her. The entire land bridge shuddered as more of it caved into the sea, and Cornelius shrieked in alarm. The air stank of staleness, and as the stone collapsed beneath her feet, she realized it had grown porous and cracked, crumbling to dust beneath her feet.

"It's Gothel," her husband yelled. "She's aging the rocks."

"We're almost there. Just keep running," she yelled back, and she picked up her face so that, had she not been holding onto him, he'd be unable to keep up. In the distance, she could see the end of the bridge, and the Arendellian scouts standing on solid land, watching them with terrified eyes.

The stone gave way beneath her. One minute, she was running, and the next she was falling. With a thunderous roar, the Devil's Staircase gave way, and she lashed out a hand, grasping onto the rope for support. Her shoulder nearly jerked out of its socket at the sudden strain, and Cornelius was screaming beneath her, thrashing about, his breathing harsh and panicked, and she clenched her fingers around his wrist, holding him up. Soldiers were falling, and the waves were swallowing them whole. _Their army._

Then, her husband, through the throes of panic, reached into his jacket and drew out an orb. It was frosted and burned with green flames, and without hesitation, he flung it into the sea beneath him. _What in Tsar Luna's name._ As it fell, the orb seemed to come to life, and it burst into a thousand sparkling fragments.

The world around her grew cold as a blizzard sprang from nowhere, and the sea grew cold and frozen as the snow thickened upon it, almost like a giant pillow. The soliders still fell, but gusts of wind were catching them, swirling around them and laying them down upon the snow, and her breath misted in front of her mouth. Cold. It was so cold. _Nick. Oh, thank Tsar Luna for Nick._

"Cornelius," she said, finally finding her voice. "If you don't keep still, I'm going to lose my grip."

"Sorry," he called back, looking up at her, and his eyes were still wide and terrified. "I'm sorry. I panicked. The sea."

"Just, breathe," she said. "Can you climb up my arm? Get onto my back and I can get us both to the end of the bridge."

Her arm ached, but she was strong. The beast was inside her, begging to be set free, and she pushed it down. No, never again. She could get them out of this as a human. Never again would she wear the skin of a beast. Gritting her teeth as her husband climbed up her arm, she bit her lip as he finally managed to wrap his arms around her from behind, clinging onto her like a limpet. Finally, he wrapped his legs around her waist, hooking his ankles, and she nodded in relief as she raised her now free arm and grasped the rope.

"Hold on," she said. "And please, just breathe."

"I'm breathing," he whispered. "I'm scared. I'm terrified. But I can't hear the sea anymore, and I know you won't let me fall."

 _Damn right._ She would never let him fall. Never.

Slowly, she let go with one hand and grasped a spot just in front of her other, and she closed her eyes. It was no secret that she was stronger than most people. She was faster. Her senses were stronger. She was Alyssa, the daughter of the Beast King, and she had inherited his powers, as much as she had grown to hate them. Still, bearing both of their weights was difficult, even for her, but she would make it.

She had to.

Below them, the soldiers were climbing to their feet, looking at the snow in amazement. Quickly, the captains were barking orders, pulling them into formations, and they were making for the shore. It would be a long climb up a series of goat paths, she knew, if they wished to reach the top, but it was better than drowning or being bashed against the rocks.

Alyssa bit her lip as she finally reached the end, feeling the hands of the scouts pulling her up. Cornelius sighed in relief as they touched solid ground, and she collapsed to the ground as he released her. Tsar Luna, she was tired, and she'd be feeling the strain in the days to come. He lay beside her and the scouts were whispering amongst themselves as he stroked her cheek, and to her horror, she felt his fingers run through fur.

It was fading back into her skin, but in that moment, she knew. She had let the beast free to get them across that span. Quickly, Alyssa ducked her hands beneath her, realizing that her claws were bared, and she felt a shudder run down her back. _The beast._ No. Never. Never again.

"Thank you," her husband gasped, and there were tears in his eyes as he held her. "Alyssa, you saved us."

But, she could barely hear him. Instead, she heard the whispers from the scouts, louder than thunder.

"The Beast Queen."

* * *

"We've lost the northern supply line," said Lord Walter of Sommersea, one of the few realms of Corona that could still be counted upon. "Tremaine's forces have us surrounded on all sides."

Eugene slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. There were a dozen letters strewn across the desk, all of which bore the same news. The lords who'd once knelt before his wife and vowed eternal fealty had turned their cloaks the minute the danger had struck, and he was all but alone in this fight. Lord Walter stood with him, and withered old Lady Wilhemia as well. In the east, Lord Reinhart still flew the sun of Corona from the walls of his keep, and in the south, Lady Mila had deployed the knights of her own household in the hopes they would reach his position in Sommersea before the Eléadoréan army reached them.

Yet, the others had turned.

With his wife's fate uncertain and with his son across the sea in Arendelle, the lords who had once dined at his table, who had once complimented his wife on her poise and grace, who had once played with his son, had abandoned Corona. The flag of Eléadoré flew from their castles, and it was open rebellion as far as the eye could see. With Gothel in the capital, with the fleet across the sea, Eugene had been forced to fall back to Sommersea, and watch as the kingdom his wife have ruled for decades crumbled in a matter of days.

"You must forgive me, Lord Walter," he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "I fear I have brought the war to your doorstep by making this my base of operations."

Lord Walter chuckled, stroking his moustache as he walked over to the window. He was an old man, but still a strong one, with a bald head and a pair of spectacles balanced upon his crooked nose. The man had seen kings and queens come and go, and he was still here. If Eugene's memory served, the Lord of Sommersea had been one of the first to welcome his wife to the throne.

"I am an old man, King Eugene, and my memory may not be as good as it once was, but I remember the vows I swore to your wife, and to her father before her, and his father before him. My granddaughter's betrothed thinks me quite mad. He has already left the castle, and his father had since taken up arms against us as well. It is good that he showed his true colours before the wedding."

"We do not have the numbers to fight them," said Eugene, frowning at the man and wondering what point he was trying to make. If it was that the lords of Corona would rather save their own necks than stand for the queen who had safeguarded them for nearly three decades, then that was something he already knew. "I have some ten thousand men. The rest of my army has sided with the enemy or returned to their homes to wait out the conflict. You have a thousand soldiers in Sommersea. My son has another few thousand in Arendelle, too far away to be of any help to us here."

"The lords turn from you because they fear you will lose," said Lord Walter. "Empty-headed young ones, the lot of them, and they are not of the same caliber as their parents before them. In my way, we would have laid down our lives for the throne without batting an eye. No matter. It will all be over soon."

All too quickly, Eugene realized what the old man was implying, and his heart sank. _He knows we can't stand against Eléadoré and Gothel at once. He knows that the lords who have remained loyal will fall, one by one, but he expects that we will lose._ Clenching his fist, Eugene all but upended the table as rage overtook him. No. He would not give up. Not whilst his wife could still be alive, not when she needed him, and not when his son's birthright was in danger.

"Their fear is unfounded," he snapped. "We will win this war, no matter the cost. I will not see Rapunzel's legacy torn apart by two bitches that we should have put down years ago."

Lord Walter raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Stroking his moustache, the old lord turned back to the window, and his lips curled into a frown. Slowly, too slowly, the lord of Sommersea turned around, his expression grim yet certain, and he inclined his head, gesturing for Eugene to join him.

Eugene walked to the window, and his heart sank lower in his chest. It was as though Tremaine had unleashed all of Eléadoré upon them, for the approaching army was so large that it seemed to never end. Tens of thousands of soldiers approached: knights on horseback, soldiers on foot, dragging siege engines behind them. Pikes, swords, bows, axes, morning stars, and spears, they glimmered in the dim sunlight, and the flags of Eléadoré flew above them. _We cannot fight that many. They outnumber us ten to one._ He paled, swallowing.

If all of Corona stood united, then it would be an even fight. Yet, their kingdom was fractured and coming apart at the seams, and there was nothing he could do about it but stand his ground and hope for the best.

"I have lived a very long life in service to the Solistarens," said Lord Walter, "Now the Fitzherberts, which doesn't quite have the same ring to it, but is regal sounding all the same. It would be an honour to die in service to them as well."

Eugene could only nod as the watchmen began to blow their horns, and the bells begin to ring. _Rapunzel… Forgive me._ He held onto hope, of course, because it was all he had, but as he turned away from the window and called for a squire to assist him with his armor, he already knew that, for the first time, there would be no dawn.

* * *

The town of Oase was a peaceful one… or at least, it had been until Cornelius had arrived. Within hours, his troops had reinforced the stone walls and set to work digging a trench around the village. His captains informed him that they intended to fill it with sharpened stakes to break an enemy charge. He had accepted their words without question. After all, as much as he was in command, he was also very inexperienced when it came to war, and it was best to defer to them in such matters.

Still, it was as good a base as any. The ground was flat, giving them a good view of the surrounding countryside, and the walls had been raised during the reign of his great-grandfather, and they were as solid then as they were now. It was well provisioned, and they wouldn't starve if they maintained proper rations. Further, the sea was to their back, and with the maelstrom tearing through it, no navy could sneak up on them.

Of the ten thousand men who'd set sail with him all those weeks ago, only seven thousand or so remained. Several had been lost at sea during the initial voyage, and a thousand or more had perished when the Giant's Pass had collapsed. He shuddered at the memory of what had happened just a day ago, and he clenched his fists under the table. That had been too close for comfort, and had it not been for Alyssa's strength and Nick's gift, he'd have lost everything.

He sighed. For so long, he'd wanted to return to Corona to aid his homeland, but now that he was here, reality was beginning to set in. The forces weighed against his kingdom were vast. Gothel held the capital, and there were whispers of monsters in the streets, being sewn together from different corpses. Hollow Ones, he'd realized in seconds, and his mother's fate was uncertain. Worse, his father was under siege in Sommersea, and try as he might, Cornelius didn't know which way to turn. He couldn't help them both. He didn't have the manpower or the supplies to fight a war on two fronts, and he had to choose.

And, he couldn't. Dammit, he couldn't choose between his mother and father.

"You've been in here all morning," said a soft voice from the door, and he looked up.

Alyssa walked into the room, and to his surprise she wore both her armor and her crown. _We're not under attack, and we're not on the march._ It made no sense. His breath caught in his throat, and he clenched his fist. _What now?_

"Your father's forces have been put to rout upon the field. They are holding the walls of Sommersea, but the situation does not look good. All of Eléadoré has marched on his position."

Without thinking, he upended the table as her words sank in. _All of Eléadoré._ He couldn't fight that many, not with the numbers he had. Papers rustled to the floor, and his inkpot spilled across the hardwood floors. A snowglobe rolled across the floor, and he kicked it as hard as he could. It shattered against the wall, and he felt arms wrap around him. He was not in a ship, and he wasn't on the pass, but he could feel the sea come rushing in all the same, and he could feel the waves lap at his head as it rose above him.

Cornelius couldn't breathe. He gasped, clawing at his throat as Alyssa held him, and she whispered in his ear, reminding him to be calm. It didn't help. He was drowning in air, and the room had become his cabin, and the windows had become portholes. No. No. _I survived._ But, he hadn't. Not really. He'd died in that cabin, and he'd been brought back, and it hadn't bothered him for years.

Now though… he didn't know what it was, but he just _couldn't_ handle it.

"Cornelius, just breathe," she whispered. "You're with me. We're fine. I know what we have to do. We will win this war. It's going to be okay."

He closed his eyes, clenching his fists as he did so, and he took a deep breath. The water faded away, rippling at his skin as it disappeared, and he wanted to sob. _Broken,_ that was the right word. He was broken on the inside, where it didn't show, and it would never be okay, not really.

"What plan?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"Just trust me," she said. "Trust me, as I trusted you all these years. There is a mercenary army blocking the route to Sommersea. Thousands of men. They're not from Eléadoré. They're not from Corona. The scouts gave me a report this morning. I know who they are."

The mercenaries. He'd knew they were there. His scouts had told him as much. Mounted knights, the lot of them, and it was said they fought like men who had nothing left to lose. They were led by a Romani, if the rumors and reports were to be believed, and he hadn't given the matter much thought… it hadn't mattered who they were. All that mattered was defeating them and pushing onwards into the heart of his kingdom.

He froze. A Romani general, and an army that had nothing left to lose. _It couldn't be._

"They're Amoréan?" he said, and a glimmer of hope sparked in his chest.

"I believe so," she replied. "I intend to ride for their camp at once… alone, mind you. No, don't look at me like that, Cornelius. This is my fight. I have to win their fealty, and I can't do that if I have my foreign husband's army at my back."

"Alyssa, the danger…"

"War is dangerous, and risks must be taken," she replied. "Listen to me, Cornelius. They have as many men as you do. If I can win them, we'll have doubled our forces. We can ride on Sommersea at once, and we can break the siege and reunite with your father and what forces remain to him."

"And if you fail?" he asked, tensing. "Alyssa, they're Amoréan, but they're taking Tremaine's gold… and I'm sorry, but Amoré is…" He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"Just trust me, Cor," she said. "In Amoré, the roses wilt, but the thorns remain. Our memories are long. And, if General Silvanus is the man I remember, then I will win his loyalty simply by revealing myself. What my grandfather did for his people… We gave them a home in Amoré. Believe in me, Cor, as I've believed in you to save me when I needed saving. Let me help Corona, just as Corona helped me."

He looked at her, and he nodded. Reaching out to cup her cheek, he pressed his lips to her brow, and for the longest moment, he just held her. Alyssa was his wife, but at the end of the day, she was a queen as well, and he knew, deep down, that if there was even a hope of regaining some fraction of her kingdom, he would never be able to live with himself if he stopped her from claiming it.

 _I trust you._

* * *

Alyssa kept her head held high as she rode towards the mercenary camp, and as she approached, she felt the last of her misgivings fade away. It made no sense, yet, her eyes could not deceive her, or her sense of smell. These people, these mercenaries… their scents were familiar. Not individually, no, because even she couldn't remember the smell of every person she'd come across in her sixteen years.

Together, though… they were Amoréan. It was the only answer. Mercenaries. Three-thousand in all, and how they'd come to this path, she could not say, but she recognized their leader all the same. In all the world, there was only one man who bound with hair with a scarf of purple silk, decorated with a dozen suns and crescent moons. From the moment the scouts had described him, she had known, and as she caught sight of him walking around the outskirts of the camp, she took a deep breath before urging her horse on.

General Silvanus, great-grandson of the greatest Amoréan general to ever live, Phoebus de Châteaupers, and one of the most talented dancers in .all Amoré, Esmeralda. There were statues of them in the old cathedral of Notre Dame, and she had grown up hearing about their lives. Heroes to the people of Amoré, the both of them, and she had almost squealed upon first meeting Silvanus all those years ago.

Her father had dispatched him to lead a force of Amoréan forces to the Imperium, but it would seem they had never reached. _They escaped the curse. It's the only thing that makes sense._ Still, these were her people. They may be hardened by the loss of their homeland, and contracted by her husband's enemies, but they were still Amoréan.

Without hesitation, she rode into the camp. Eyes turned in her direction, and men raised their swords before dropping them in confusion. She crown gleamed in the dim sunlight, and the rapier at her side glimmered as she rode past a dozen firepits. _Impossible,_ she heard someone say. _A ghost. It cannot be._ The whispers grew into a din as she approached the central tent, but none raised a hand to stop her.

"Princess Alyssa," said General Silvanus, coming up to her as she reined in her horse. "We were told you were dead. All of Amoré was said to have fallen."

As usual, he did not mince words, and she flinched at his tone. He was a hard man, and it seemed he had been made harder still by the events that had transpired in recent months. Still, she remembered the way his smile could light a room, and the stories he would tell—gypsy stories which her father hated but she had adored.

No. Alyssa dismissed the memories. She could no longer be the girl she'd once been. The Princess of Roses had died in the fires of Amoré, and the Beast Queen had risen from the ashes. She could not be soft, and she could not let fond recollections hinder her judgement. The situation was dire, and she knew that coming here alone had been a risk… but it had been a risk that she'd needed to take when she'd heard.

Amoré was dead, but it's people still remained in the form of this ramshackle army, and she would not allow her citizens to bar her husband's path.

"Queen Alyssa," she corrected, noting how the whispers grew louder. "My survival was publicized far and wide in Corona, as was my marriage to Prince Cornelius. My kingdom may be gone, but I am still a queen, and his fight is my fight. Now, would you stand against your queen, General Silvanus, and continue to take the gold of a woman in league with the witch who brought ruin to our homeland?"

"Amoré is dead," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "The men I command lost their homes, their families… everything. For days, we waited in Eléadoré for some word from the royal family, from anyone, and then we realized it was all gone. Tremaine gave us the gold we needed to survive. We are mercenaries, sworn to her, because she extended us solace in our hour of need. Yet, here you stand, and you claim to have been in Corona all this time. Tell me, _Princess_ Alyssa, did you forget us? Did you not remember the men your father sent to war until it benefited you?"

She growled low in her throat. _So, we play the game_ , she thought, letting her hand fall to the hilt of her rapier. He was an honourable man, she knew, and a loyal one… there was much his family in particular owed to the royal family, her ancestors, and he was testing her. Very well. He would find that she did not bow nor break under such sharp words.

"I did not think of you," she admitted. "Because I believed you dead. I believed all of you dead. You are not fools. You know what became of our homeland. You know of the curse. I spent weeks trapped in the form of a beast, and it was through the actions of my husband and friends that I am here today. When I came too, when the transformation faded, all I could discern was that everything was gone. My parents. My citizens. Everything. I was a queen without a kingdom."

"You—" General Silvanus opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a glare.

"You held your tongue when my father spoke, and you will extend me the same courtesy," she interrupted, her voice as sharp as a whip. "I am your queen by birthright, for you are a citizen of Amoré, a general of its armies, and you swore vows to the crown."

"All of you," she continued. "Swore vows to the crown. Now, Amoré may be gone, and we may have lost much. My own parents were lost to the curse. The land is still overrun by thorns. The Hollow Ones still prowl the countryside. Yet, what does serving Tremaine get you save for gold in your pockets? You are men of Amoré, and what are our words? _The petals wilt but the thorns remain. Let our enemies fear their bite."_

Taking a deep breath, she raised her rapier into the air, and she took a deep breath.

"I cannot bring back the dead," she said. "And I cannot reverse what has been done. But I can promise you one thing. I am Queen Alyssa Rose Fitzherbert, daughter of King Adam de Amoré and Queen Belle de la Rosa, crowned in my sixteenth year in the ashes of my kingdom, and I can give you what you want most in the world."

"Words," interrupted General Silvanus. "Empty words from a stripling girl. Do you know what we have lost, Alyssa of Amoré? Our families. Our homes. Our legacies. After all that we have lost, what will empty words serve in contrast to the cold hard coin offered by Tremaine?"

He snorted. "We will require more than words from the likes of you."

"Silvanus, she is a queen," hissed the general's subordinate.

"She is the queen of _nothing_ ," he said with a snort. "She led her own kingdom to ruin and her husband has followed in her footsteps. If she wishes for our service, then let her prove her worth as her father once did."

Alyssa stared at the man. This was not the way she had intended the meeting to go, and nor had she anticipated the growing murmur of agreement from amongst the crowd. Her mother had always told her that the pen was mightier than the sword when winning allies, but she was clearly wrong. She closed her eyes as the men parted around her, forming a large circle.

If it is proof they want, then it is proof she will provide.

"Well," she said, drawing her rapier and pointing it at the general. "Come then."

General Silvanus looked at her, a strange expression on his face. It was almost as though he was surprised that she had accepted his mercenaries were staring at her, captivated. The captains had pushed to the front, and she knew their faces if not their names. How many times had she passed them by in the castle? How many times had she exchanged pleasant words with them, or else spoken to their wives and children along with her mother? These men… they had known her since she was a girl, and they were Amoréan, and they were all that was left of Amoré. Yet, they still saw her as that girl, did they not? Vain and empty-headed, a spoilt brat who played at being a perfect princess. Now, it was time to change their minds. She would show them who she had become beneath the stains of time and tragedy.

"Very well," said General Silvanus, drawing his longsword.

Without further ado, he lunged with such speed and ferocity that Alyssa was caught off guard. She leapt back, her twin-tails streaming through the air as his sword gouged the ground where she'd been standing. Gritting her teeth, she regained her bearings and dashed towards her foe, unleashing a barrage of thrusts as she did so. Her rapier was not heavy or strong enough to turn his longsword, and she feared it would snap should their blades cross. No, their styles of fighting were far too different for her to engage him in brute strength, her beastly nature notwithstanding.

Her only hope was to show greater skill, though he had many years of experience on her in that regard as well.

She ducked beneath his swing, gasping as his blade caught her hair. Several strands fell around her, and she lashed out, kicking him in the leg before rolling away. With a grunt, he went down, but before she could press her advantage he had swept himself away and regained his balance. Narrowing her eyes, she lunged again, her rapier a blur. Droplets of blood splattered through the air as she cut open his cheek, and a slight smirk of victory crossed her face.

His fist took her in the jaw, and she yelped in surprise as she went flying. Her rapier fell from her grasp as she hit the ground. Dragging herself to her feet, she grasped for it, her eyes widening in dismay as she watched him kick it aside.

"Few have been skilled enough to mark me," said Silvanus, a wry smirk on his face. "Yet, for all your talk of strength, _Queen_ Alyssa, you are surprisingly weak." He said her title mockingly, and if possible, it hit her even harder than his fist had.

Rage coursed through her veins as she rose to her feet. _Weak._ Very well. She would show them weakness. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, she reached for the dagger sheathed within her sleeve and lunged. Silvanus' eyes widened in surprise. Good. He hadn't expected this. Her blade was inches from his eye when the flames burst around him, surprising her with their heat. He spun away, his eyes glinting, and then his boot caught her in the gut.

She went flying, hitting the ground so hard that her head rang. _Treachery_ , her mind hissed. _How dare he use his powers in a duel of physical strength?_ Yet, nobody moved to protest his actions.

"This was a match of strength," she snarled, dragging herself to her feet.

"Surely you wouldn't ask me to set aside my heritage, _oh great queen._ My grandmother, Esmeralda, was quite known for her Dance of Flames, after all."

Alyssa closed her eyes. Very well. If this was what she must do, then so be it. _Heritage._ She couldn't help the smirk that curled across her lips as she met his eye, nor could she fight the glint in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she held up a hand.

She was the Queen of Amoré. More than that, she was the daughter of Queen Consort Belle and King Adam. They called her the Queen of Roses. They called her the Queen of Thorns. Yet, she was so much more. There was a part of her that she resented. It was something she tried to mask away, to hide, yet it was a part of her all the same.

 _Heritage._

"You have made me angry," she said in a cool, calm voice, wiping a trickle of blood from her lips with the back of her hand. Overhead, the faint sun beat down upon her from behind the clouds, and for the first time in her life, Alyssa let go.

She doubled over, blood bursting from her lips as her bones grew long. Russet fur sprouted from her skin as her teeth lengthened into fangs and, with a loud series of rips, her armor and clothing tore apart beneath her change. Her nails turned to claws as she rose up on her hind legs, her back arched forward as muscles rippled beneath her skin. Her eyes burned a vicious yellow and slaver dripped from her muzzle.

This… this was the Beast of Amoré in her true form. She was not the vicious wolf cursed by Odette, nor was she the tame beast who slept the night away at each full moon by the Godmother's intervention. This was her curse, the curse that could never be broken, the curse that was within her blood.

She howled and he balked, and she wasted no time in lunging. _General Silvanus,_ she thought, _you will find that I am my father's daughter._

He swung his sword and she bit into the steel. She glared as she shattered the steel between her teeth. Spitting out the shrapnel without care, she brought him to the ground with a single blow. He yelped in pain, but her paw was firm against his throat, pinning him in place. Then, she kicked and he went flying, flipping through the air before hitting the ground and lying still.

 _Rip his throat out!_ A voice within her yelled, but she shook it off. No, the beast did not rule her. She ruled the beast. Ignoring the voice, she padded towards her prey, and she dug her claws into his chest. Blood welled around the tips, and she cocked her head. Meeting his gaze, she waited, slowly increasing the pressure until she could feel his ribcage buckling, ready to snap.

"I yield," he half-gasped, half-sobbed. "I yield."

As quickly as that, she released the pressure. Blood flowed from the wounds, and they would no doubt scar, but there would be no lasting injury once the healers arrived. Satisfied, Alyssa turned away, letting her human form return as she walked. She was naked, she realised, but she did not care. A captain came rushing towards her, holding out his cloak, and she accepted it with a nod.

Using it to cover herself, she wiped the blood from her chin and stared at the men and women around her, the last citizens of Amoré.

"You ask what I can offer you?" she said, her voice carrying across the silence. "You ask what I can give that no other can?"

"Home," she said simply. "I can offer you a home. Take me as your queen, accept me as your ruler, and I will do all in my power to restore Amoré to its former glory. Swear your swords to me, and stand with me in my battles, and I will stand with you, forever and always. For I am Amoré, as are you, and our kingdom will not fade into the darkness like so many others before it, not whilst there is breath in my body."

General Silvanus was the first to approach her, dropping to one knee and raising his sword above him. His expression was one of both admiration and fear. So, she had won him over with her display after all. Alyssa snorted. She should have transformed as soon as the fight began and saved herself a beating.

"Queen of Roses, I pledge you my sword as I pledged it to your father before you."

With his words, the dam broke, and they approached in unison, kneeling and proclaiming and raising their weapons in deference.

"Long may she reign."

Men knelt, extending their weapons, and bowing their heads. Horses whinnied, and the sun gleamed beneath the grey clouds. Fires crackled, and she dismounted from her horse, raising her rapier as she did so. Deftly, she tapped it on Silvanus' shoulder accepting his oath, and she took a deep breath.

"The Queen of Roses," they proclaimed.

"The Queen of Amoré and Corona,' they hailed. "The Queen of Thorns."

As she took them as her men, another voice whispered in her mind.

 _The Beast Queen_


	37. The Final Sunset

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty Two**

 **The Final Sunset**

* * *

Rapunzel slept on a bed of purple flowers, and the clouds above were made of suffocating cotton. A lullaby echoed in her ears, soft and haunting, and the harsh sun beat down upon her face. The flowers were rough, and her skin itched, but she couldn't move, no matter how hard she tried. The grass stirred beneath the biting wind, and it curled around her body, tight and twisting, holding her down like a dozen serpents.

She whimpered, unable to help herself, and the ground gave way beneath her. She jolted awake, sitting up on the cold floor, and the shadows swirled around her. Horses whinnied as they cantered around the room, black and spectral, and her throat grew thick and heavy. There was a corpse in the corner of the room. Blond and lean and bloody, the body lay there with unseeing blue eyes, and she screamed.

She crawled across the room, because it couldn't be. It was a lie. It had to be. But, he was so real. Desperately, she shook her son, trying to wake him, because he wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Water bubbled from his lips, thick and foul, and his skin turned green beneath her fingers. She recoiled at the stench, and then he dissolved to nothing, leaving little more than seafoam in his wake.

Rapunzel jolted awake, and the room was quiet. Bare and empty, golden light gleamed at the windows, and she sighed in relief. The nightmares were increasing in frequency, and they were so very real. How long had she been in here? She didn't feel particularly hungry, or thirsty, so it couldn't be too long. Yet, the sun had risen and fallen a dozen times, but… had it really? Was it just another nightmare.

She rolled onto her side, and she screamed. Eugene met her eyes, his body stiff and lifeless, and blood trickled from his lips. Maggots crawled out of his nose, and he reached out with a single, rotted hand to cup her cheek. Flinging herself back, she fell out of bed, hitting her head upon the ground, and with a jolt, she woke up.

Laughter. Rapunzel could hear a child laughing, and she frowned. She was in the field again, and it was a nightmare. It had to be. The cotton clouds hung low in the sky, drawing ever closer, and there was a red-haired woman standing ahead of her, cradling a child in her arms. _A companion in this hell?_ Without thinking, Rapunzel reached out and grasped the woman by the shoulder.

The woman's head rolled off her head, and she crumbled to dust. The child fell to the ground, sobbing in a pile of ashes, and she saw that it was a boy. Red hair and blue eyes, and a tinge of sunlight in its tear-stained gaze. Unfamiliar yet so familiar, she couldn't stop herself from reaching down to pick the child up. Holding it to her chest, she ignored the wails and patted it on the back.

"There, there," she whispered. "It will all be okay."

Fur burst across the child's body, and fangs dug into her throat. She screamed as it tore out her flesh, and she flung it away from her as she fell to her knees, blood running down her side as the world grew blurred around her.

She woke with a jolt, and she was at a dinner table, presiding over a great feast of the dead. Cornelius turned to look at her, smiling as he raised an eyeball at the end of a rusted fork to his green-tinged lips, and water cascaded from his mouth as he opened it. Eugene was there as well, wearing a scarlet grin across his throat, and blood gushed down his shirt as he tucked into his food. Others… she recognized others as well. Her cousins, Anna and Elsa, dressed in rags with worms slithering out of their eyes, and her nephew, Nicholas, wearing a tight noose in place of a tie. They were grinning at her, all of them, and then they were standing up, approaching with their rusted utensils held high.

As the fork bit into her cheek, she screamed, and she woke with a jolt. Tears dripped from her eyes as she ran, because there was something behind her, getting closer and closer, but she couldn't look back. If it saw her, she was dead, and she had to keep running. Rough hands caught her wrist, lifting her into the air, and she kicked out, screaming as a sword slashed her open at the waist.

She woke with a jolt, and she was in her study. Cornelius was sitting across from her, looking at her in concern. _Another nightmare._ But, he looked normal, her bright and sunny child, all blond hair and blue eyes, and he was holding a squirming bundle in his arms. Across the room, Eugene was standing beside the cabinet, pouring himself a tumbler of bourbon, and he was chuckling, and Alyssa was there as well, looking tired as she sat on the window seat with a book opened on her lap.

"Mum, are you okay?" asked Cornelius, reaching out to touch her wrist. He was warm.

"I must have dozed off for a minute," she said, smiling, and she closed her eyes. It had been a nightmare, a cruel nightmare, and it had all been a dream. "I haven't been sleeping well these last few days."

"You should let me help out more," her son said, shaking his head. "I mean, I have my hands full with this little rascal, but you're working yourself too hard."

And, as he spoke, blood ran from his nostrils and his lips turned blue. He seized, froth and water spilling from his mouth, and his gaze was terrified as he looked at her, pleading for her to help him, and she screamed. In one go, she cleared the desk and clasped her hands to his throat as the child rolled out of his grasp and hit the floor, worms already crawling from its lips, and she poured her healing light into her son.

And, just like all those years ago, he died in her arms. Only, this time, there was no Rumpelstiltskin to bring him back. The room swam around her, and she shrieked as Eugene hit the ground, an all-too-familiar knife buried in his gut, and she clawed at her face. _Make it stop._ The Nightmares cantered around her, whinnying, and the shadows swirled as she fell to the ground. _Make it stop. Make it stop!_

She woke with a jolt, with blood running down her cheeks and bits of skin stuck beneath her nails. Laughter echoed in her ears, and she screamed. Her throat was raw, and she tore at her hair, yanking it out in matted clumps, and she screamed again, louder than she had any right to. The tower closed in around her, the walls drawing close, and spiders skittered across her skin, biting deep and ripping at her flesh with a thousand tiny jaws.

Rapunzel woke with a jolt, and she was in a field of purple flowers, with cottons clouds hanging overhead. A single hand reached down, closing upon her throat, and it tightened, claws drawing blood as she wept and screamed and thrashed. The grass was like razors, tearing at her skin, and she didn't want to see anymore, she didn't want to hear. _Make it stop. Make it stop. Please, just make it stop._

She woke with a jolt.

* * *

Eugene had never been much of an archer, but he knew how to use a bow well enough. He'd never be as talented as his son, not when it came to archery, but he could still take aim and fire from the walls of Sommersea all the same. His fingers were stiff and bleeding, and he'd already had to replace the string twice. Yet, there were still arrows in his quiver, and he had soldiers fletching more in the courtyards.

"Keep firing," he yelled as his arrow caught an Eléadoréan soldier in the eye. "If they gain the walls, we're lost. Keep firing."

Arrows rained down from the walls, and the Eléadoréans marched on, paying the dead and dying no mind. In all his years, Eugene had not seen soldiers such as these, for they seemed to feel no pain. They marched on and on, as unending as the Hollow Ones he'd faced in Old Oloria, and if the arrow did not kill them, they barely seemed to feel it. There was a cry to his right, and two of his men upended a cauldron of boiling oil over the walls.

The Eléadoréans burned, yet even as the flesh sloughed off their bodies, they didn't scream. It was unsettling. _Sorcery,_ he knew, but as to the nature of the spell, he could not say. A large boulder flew over his head, striking the chapel, and he cursed beneath his breath. _Trebuchets._ They've finally gotten their siege weapons ready. Worse still, it would only be a matter of time before the siege towers and catapults made their appearance known, and whilst it was relatively simple to hold out against grappling hooks and ladders…

No, they had to fight on. It was all that they could do.

"King Eugene," said a captain, falling into step behind him. "They've swung around the city and laid siege to the western gate."

"Can we hold?" he asked, pursing his lips. He fired another arrow, his fingers screaming in pain. For every one he killed, another dozen swept forward. A grappling hook caught around the merlon, and he drew his knife.

Dropping to his knees, he sawed through the taut rope even as soldiers tried to scale the walls, and as they fell, they didn't scream.

"We'll be overrun within the hour. We don't have enough manpower to hold off this many at all three gates," said the captain, his face pale, his voice trembling.

 _So, this is how it ends, huh?_ The thought echoed through his mind, but he refused to give in. He had too much to fight for: Rapunzel, Cornelius, Alyssa, his soldiers, his kingdom, his people, the list went on and on. He couldn't let them down. Any of them. If Eléadoré wanted his head, they'd have to pry it off his cold, dead body.

Siege towers rolled into view, and catapults twang as they fired great stones upon Sommersea. Atop the walls, his soldiers fired arrows and flung rocks, tossing cauldrons of boiling oil and taking aim with their ballistae. They stood tall, and so would he. This would not be the end.

A horn sounded in the gloom, and he started. As he looked up, the bow almost fell from his hands as shock coursed through his body. Beside him, the captain swore, but Eugene's eyes were fixed upon the bluffs, and the queen sitting astride a white horse. Her armor gleamed, and she raised a rapier into the air. Eugene's throat went dry as the thunder of hooves echoed through the air, and then, he saw the army.

The cavalry charged down the bluffs, lances raised and levelled before them. Knights in gleaming plate bore the flags of Amoré, and Queen Alyssa rode alongside them. The Eléadoréans swung around the confront the new threat, abandoning their assault on the walls, but it was already too late for them. The knights of Amoré were legendary, and to break their charge was folly. Like a hot knife through butter, his daughter-in-law's cavalry cut a bloody path through the attackers, and then the sky grew dark.

"For Corona!" a familiar voice bellowed, and Eugene didn't know whether to laugh or cry. _I told you to stay in Arendelle. I told you to stay safe._

Arrows rained from the sky by the hundreds, and Cornelius stood atop the bluffs with his bow in hand. Archers formed up around him, following his lead, and with a loud roar, infantry poured down the pathways that the cavalry had just flattened. In place of roses, they bore suns upon their flags and tunics, and they charged with a fury that Eugene had never seen. Pikes and swords gleamed in the dull light, and the Eléadoréans scattered, their formations broken.

"Gather the men," said Eugene, "We ride."

The captain nodded in understanding and took off, barking orders. Eugene set down his bow and took the stairs two at a time, all but leaping onto Maximus' back. Drawing his sword, he spurred his horse on, and as he rode, others fell in beside him. The gates swung open, and he took the field. Bodies piled around him, and arrows rained down from the sky. Knights slashed their way through the battlefield, and in the distance, he could just make out Alyssa. His daughter-in-law was a furious whirlwind of steel and red hair, and she opened throats as she punched through steel.

He was the anvil, and his son and daughter-in-law were the hammer. Between them, the Eléadoréan armies broke and fled, fear finally filling their gazes as they were caught between three armies. For a long time, Eugene rode through the battlefield, hacking and slashing, stabbing until Maximus' coat was slick with blood, and his armor dripped with the stuff. The enemy was in full retreat, and for the first time in days, a ray of light pierced his heart.

A soldier charged him with a morning star, and Eugene killed with without hesitation. Then, another leapt at him, so Eugene killed this one as well. They were the soldiers of summer, born and raised in Eléadoré, and without the guarantee of victory behind them, their inexperience showed. With brutal efficiency he swept through their ranks, losing himself to the thrill of battle. When the fight was over, the lives he had taken would weigh on him, but he was under no illusions.

It was kill or be killed upon the field of battle, and he refused to die here, not when the light had finally returned to Corona.

He swung his sword, deflecting an axe and throwing the wielder of balance. Deftly, he pulled back his sword before ramming it into the crevice between the soldier's gorget and helm. As blood spilled down the soldier's armor, Eugene caught sight of a mounted cavalier from the corner of his vision. He spun around in the saddle, raising his blade, but the cavalier had already fallen off his horse, an arrow sticking through his eye. _Cornelius._ Eugene turned, nodding at the the bluffs above where his son's archers took aim, and he charged back into the heat of battle.

Finally, as the sun set, he reined in his trusty steed and dismounted, just in time for a pair of arms to wrap around him. He clapped his son on the back, the words dying in his throat, and for a moment, they just stood there, grateful to still be alive. _I told you stay away, to stay safe… but I'm glad you came._

"I'll forgo the grounding for disobeying my orders, just this once, okay?" he said, chuckling despite everything.

Cornelius laughed, breaking the embrace and glancing around. The battle was won, and the enemy had fled. It was not the end of the war, Eugene knew. In fact, the war was far from over. Still, today had been a victory, and that was good enough for him. For now, all that mattered was that they'd survived.

"You're welcome, Dad," said Cornelius, a wan smile on his face. "We'd have arrived sooner, but we had to take the land route, and it wasn't an easy journey."

"Oh, it seems you have a story to tell me," said Eugene, eager to hear about his son's adventures, and even more eager to begin planning their assault on the capital. All that was missing now was Rapunzel, and they would rescue her together. "Let's go inside. The wounded need to be tended, and I dare say we're all in need of a good bath and a hot meal after this fight."

"That sounds lovely, King Fitzher—"

"Eugene or Dad will do, Alyssa," he said, rolling his eyes. "You're married to my son, remember?"

Cornelius rolled his eyes, Alyssa flushed, and they turned to return to Sommersea. There was much to discuss, and there was much for them to plan if they were to take back the capital city. However, as they walked, a shiver ran down his spine, and he looked around, instantly on his guard. Something was amiss.

 _There._ He glared at the hills, and Gothel glared back. _She must have been there for the entire battle, just watching and waiting._ It made no sense. What was she doing here? The answer came to easily. She'd come to see him die with her own eyes… Quickly, Eugene grasped Cornelius and Alyssa by their collars, dragging them towards the relative safety of Sommersea.

"Move," he said. "Just move."

Mercifully, they obeyed, and he picked up speed. They couldn't fight her, not yet. Whatever magic she had up her sleeves was powerful indeed, and it had been enough to dispatch of the entire capital city, his spies had reported. To face her, they'd need a plan. A shrill cackle resounded through the air, and he shuddered.

Eugene whirled, catching movement in the corner of his eye, and he narrowed his eyes. _That light._ Without hesitation, he shoved Cornelius and Alyssa out of the way, just as the streak of yellow mist slammed into his chest. Atop the bluffs, Gothel clapped in delight, though her eyes were cold and furious, and she disappeared in a flash of smoke.

"Dad?" yelled Cornelius. "Dad!"

Eugene groaned, clutching at his chest as the curse spread across his skin. His hands grew gnarled and papery, and he coughed, falling to his knees. The brittles bones within his body snapped, and he gasped for breath, his vision growing milky.

"Dad, hold on," Cornelius was on his knees, holding him up, but it was too late.

"King Eugene, the healers are on their way!" That was Alyssa's voice, he remembered.

Eugene felt the years trickle out of him, and he aged in seconds. His hair grew dry and brittle, falling from his hair in clumps, and he felt a horse nuzzle at his sunken cheek. _Maximus._ That was his horse's name, wasn't it? Everything was blurry and fading, and he felt old, so very old. _Rapunzel… I'm sorry._

He gasped, and then he crumpled, his body turning to dust as he fell.

* * *

Cornelius rode in silence, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

It hurt, everything hurt, and the brief taste of victory had turned to ashes in his mouth. The road stretched on in front of him, long and uneven, and his army trekked behind him, and for the first time, they were silent. Not a word was said, and there were no marching ballads or words of encouragement. No, this was both a march to war and a procession of mourning, for their king's body was not yet cold.

His father's ashes would be interred within the Cathedral of the Sun, the holiest place in all Corona, alongside the royals who had come before him. It was not tradition. The spouses of the kings and queens of Corona were buried in the grounds of the cathedral… no consort had ever had their ashes consecrated within. This was different. This was his dad. If the bishop protested, Cornelius would simply replace him. The delegation had left at dawn, bearing both an urn filled with his father's ashes and a missive from him, sealed and stamped with his sunburst.

To refuse him was treason, and he had made that point very clear.

The road stretched on and on, but he refused to look back. If he looked back, he'd weep, and there was still work to be done. His mother was in danger, if she was not yet dead as well, and he would not rest until he had Gothel's head. That was all that drove him. Not his throne. Not his crown. Not even his wife. He wanted vengeance, and he'd have it. Everything… everything ached. The fear, the fury, the fatigue… it was all being driven towards one person, the root of every problem his kingdom had faced.

Gothel.

Ships as new as his did not sink on their own. Kingdoms as vibrant as his did not grow pale and grey on their own. War did not come calling without someone calling the shots. Kings as young as his father didn't die of old age. Everything was her fault. All of it. The minute he'd seen her magic, he'd known.

" _Hello, Cornelius,"_ a voice echoed in his head, and he gritted his teeth. The nagging voice had been there from the time he'd clutched his father's ashes in his hands, and it was colder than the grave. Like ice, almost, but colder than anything Nick could create.

"Go away," he said. "The answer is no."

" _You cannot win this fight on your own. How can you fight time, Prince of the Dawn? Even your light ages."_

"Go away," he repeated, and the voice laughed, low and mocking.

" _I cannot leave a mind that has invited me in, Prince. You opened the door as your despair took you. Now, accept the deal, and earn your revenge."_

"Cornelius?" another voice said, and he shook himself.

Alyssa's horse fell into step beside his own, and her expression was worried. She reached out a hand, grasping his wrist, and he shook her off without thinking. No. Not now. _Do not try to calm me now. I can breathe on my own._ His wife pulled her hand away as though stung, looking at him with frantic eyes.

"You're worrying me, Cor. Please, I know it's hard. I know, more than most, the pain of losing a father. Don't shut me out. I want to be here for you."

He took a deep breath, and he turned his gaze back to the road ahead. In the distance, he could make out the towers of his palace, far away but drawing ever closer. Soon, an end would be made. Corona would be free. His father's soul would find peace. Only then would he rest. Only then would he allow himself to grieve.

" _She'll die as well if you don't take my bargain, Prince of the Dawn,"_ said the voice, and a shiver ran down his spine. " _And the child as well. Did you know there was a child in her? You can march to your death, or you can save them. Just one deal. It's all I ask."_

He froze.

As Alyssa drew up beside him once more, he turned to her, narrowing his eyes. She looked no different that she had when they'd left Arendelle, but if what the voice said was true… No, he'd been careful. He'd spilled his seed on her belly or her thigh, and the only time he'd released within her had been the first night they'd spent together. There couldn't be a _child._

"Alyssa," he said, needing to know, now more than ever. "Are you pregnant?"

His wife started, and just like that, he knew. They had shared a lot over their relationship, and her reactions were always easy to read as far as he was concerned. Glancing at her, he let his eyes fall to her belly, still flat beneath her armor… They hadn't been together since leaving Arendelle, and, Tsar Luna above, she'd been fighting, and she'd carried him when the pass had collapsed.

This couldn't go on.

"How did you know?" she asked. "I was going to tell you. I was. Things just got very…"

"I understand," he said gruffly, and for a moment, he wondered why he wasn't reacting as he had always imagined he would. The news had heartened him, but the world was still grey and wan around him, and all he truly felt was weary. _A child._ He was seventeen, which was not too young as far as royal heirs were concerned, but he had a war to fight, a father to avenge, a mother to rescue, and a kingdom to restore.

And, beneath everything, the desire to kill Gothel intensified. It had been a glowing ember and now it was a bonfire. It had to end. The witch had hurt three generations of his family, and he could not allow it to continue, not now that there was a fourth.

" _So, what say you, Prince of the Dawn? Can you truly defeat Gothel and protect those you love without my assistance?"_

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I just don't know."

* * *

 _Nick,_

 _I need you. I don't need your military or your magic. I just need you here right now, not for me, but for Cor._

 _This morning, we broke the siege on Sommersea. King Eugene did not make it. Gothel killed him. Nick, I'm sorry. I know he's your uncle and this is not the best way to tell you, but Cor is taking it hard. Very hard. I'm sorry. I'd never ask this of you if I had any other choice, but I'm worried. Please. We leave Sommersea at dawn, and we're marching on the capital._

 _Cor isn't himself. He's withdrawn and sullen, and I've heard him talking to himself when he thinks I'm not listening. He's talking about deals and power, and revenge, and I'm worried. Please, Nick, come to Corona. He won't open up to me._

 _But, you share a bond with him that I don't. Maybe you can succeed where I failed. Please, Nick, I'm begging you._

 _-Sincerely,_

 _Alyssa_

"Oh… that isn't good," said Morgan, "That isn't good at all."

Nick sighed, setting down the letter. Rubbing at his temples, he turned to his boyfriend, and without saying a word, pulled him into a tight hug. His uncle was dead. He'd not been as close to Uncle Fitz, as he'd always called Cornelius' father, as he was to his own Uncle Kristoff, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. _Could I have changed things had I gone with them?_ Almost instantly, he shook his head, dispelling the thought. He had his duties to Arendelle, and he couldn't have abandoned them. As a prince, it had been easy to make the decision to go to Amoré.

As a king, he had a lot more to worry about, and he couldn't be ruled by his heart.

Morgan held him, stroking his back, and Nick sighed. After the longest moment, he pulled away, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. This… this was an emergency, something they had not predicted, and he knew that he had no choice but to fly to his cousin's aid. Cornelius had dropped everything when Arendelle had come under siege, and Nick couldn't help but feel that things would be so very different had Corona's army been in Corona when Gothel had struck.

No, he couldn't feel guilty. This wasn't about him. Yes, he hurt, but this was about Cor.

"The bird that brought this letter was nearly dead when it reached," he said. "If they left Sommersea the morning after she sent the letter, they should be almost at the capital by now. I'm going. I can't not go. Will you come with me?"

"Do you even need to ask?" asked Morgan, running a hand down his cheek. "Go on. Tell your aunt that you're leaving, and I'll pack a bag for the trip."

Nick nodded, pressing his lips to his boyfriend's cheek in a brief kiss before leaving his study, grasping the letter as he did so. The castle was quiet, yet there was a roaring in his ears as he walked. He felt sad, but it was almost as though he was numb to loss. Cold. That was the word for it. His mother's death had turned him cold, as had the rebellion and all that had come with it. He still cared, and he still felt, but he couldn't deny it.

As he left his private wing, he headed for his aunt's bedroom, noting how the guardsmen inclined their head in his direction. They'd always been respectful, but they'd chatted with him all the same. Perhaps they hadn't been the best of friends, but he'd once had a good rapport with all of them. But, he'd been a prince then, and though he was still Nick, his people treated him very differently as a king. He shook himself, taking a deep breath. This was not about him and his struggles right now. Cor needed him.

"Aunt Anna," he called, knocking on her door.

"In a second, Nick."

He waited, shifting from one foot to another. She wouldn't like him leaving, not so soon after Amoré. As much as he'd tried to hide the full extent of his injuries, she had somehow picked up on how close he'd come to death, and she rebellion had made her even more protective, if that was even possible. Swallowing, he waited until the door swung open. Aunt Anna stood in the doorway, her blouse hanging slightly off her left shoulder, and Morrigan fussed slightly in her arms.

She was growing quite big, though she was still little. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he realized how daft he sounded. Still, his cousin was a healthy little baby, even if she had gotten into the habit of pulling on his hair and giggling whenever he carried her.

Wordlessly, Nick handed his aunt the letter, and scooped Morrigan out of her arms. His cousin looked up at him with brown doe-eyes, calming down at once and despite everything, a smile curled across his lips. He tickled her nose, letting a single snowflake hang above her eyes, just out of reach. Morrigan grasped for it, giggling as it flitted above her, and he closed his eyes. _I'll never have one of my own, will I?_

He started. Where had that thought come from? Before he could think more on the matter, his aunt spoke.

"Oh, Eugene…" she said, shaking her head. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she looked up at him, pursing her lips. "You're going, aren't you?"

"I have to," he replied. "It's Cor."

"I know," she said. "Nick, you don't need my permission, not anymore. You're the king now. Your outrank me."

"You're still my aunt," he replied, shrugging. "I mean, I'd feel odd just leaving without saying anything. You know?"

"I do," she said. "Stay safe, okay. I'll hold things down on this end."

For the first time in his life, Nick looked at his aunt, truly seeing her for who she was. All his life, she'd just been Aunt Anna, his mother's sister who'd treated him as though he was her own son. She'd sneak him sweets when he was a kid, and they'd build snowmen in the gardens when his mother was busy Yet, she'd been his mother's right hand for decades. Aunt Anna grieved, and there were dark rings beneath her eyes, but she still kept her head held high. She had never been born to rule, and she'd accepted that long ago. But, she was the most faithful agent of the throne all the same, and she always had been.

He truly was blessed to have her as his support.

"Thank you," he said, and he tickled Morrigan's nose as he handed her back to Aunt Anna. "Just… thank you."

There was a lot to say, and even more that he couldn't put into words, but the look on her face as she hugged him was enough to let him know that she understood all the same.

* * *

"Gothel, my dear, are you prepared for your final bow?" asked her master, and she shuddered, not quite understanding.

 _Her final bow?_ Understanding dawned, and she smiled. Of course. The show was coming to an end, and once Prince Cornelius had been dealt with, her role in the plan was done. Another threat would have been removed, and Corona would be hers to rule as she saw fit. It would be marvellous, and perhaps, if she was feeling particularly bored, she'd give the world an encore.

She sat upon the throne, one leg crossed over the other, and her master stood before her. Tall and thin, he rose from a pool of shadows, and his eyes glimmered like twin rubies in the lamplight. He unnerved her. How could he not? Yet, at the same time, she couldn't help but be drawn to his power, like a moth to a flame. Perhaps, if she flew too close, she'd burn, but for now, all was well.

"Tremaine and Hans were foolish idiots who failed in their tasks, one more than the other," she said instead, rolling her eyes. "Odile failed twice. I will not fail you."

"Of course you won't," he replied, his thin lips curling into a twisted leer. Rising up, he leaned over her, running a claw down her cheek, and he winked. "You will not fail me."

She gasped, almost doubling over in pain. It felt as though her soul was being sucked out through her mouth, but quickly, she realized it was just the power he'd granted her. _No. What is the meaning of this?_ Without the flower and without the magical reserves of her master, she would not be able to fight an entire army, even with the Hollow Ones she'd been given. As quickly as the sensation had come over her, it faded, and she slumped back against the throne, panting.

"Master…"

"In chess, the pawns go first," he said, his leer growing. "You've done beautifully, but your usefulness has come to an end. After all, I have my sights set on another, and he'd never submit to me if you're still kicking."

Terror washed over her, and her eyes widened. Did he intend to dispose of her like a used tissue? Then, the terror turned to rage, and she rose to her feet, lashing out. Yellow mist burst from his palm, flickering and faint, and it barely touched him before fading out of existence. _Damn you. Damn you, Pitch!_

"Feisty," he said, chuckling. "Now, now, Gothel. Do be a good sport about this. You've gotten your revenge on sweet Rapunzel, and you've put Eugene in the ground. Isn't that enough? Don't worry. It'll all be over soon."

A shudder ran down her back as he faded into the shadows, and she glared. No, this would not be her end. She had the Hollow Ones, and with them, she could hold back the armies of Corona. This would not be her final bow. She had not lived this long, fought this long, and clawed her way to power for this long to die like this, cast aside like a pawn who no longer served a purpose in the master's grand scheme.

She was five-hundred years old, and she would not let herself be defeated by a boy. This would not be her final bow. It would be his. Her master would see she still had her uses. He had to. This would not be how her story ended.

Gothel refused to see it end this way.

* * *

By noon, they had taken the walls. General Silvanus had circled the city, striking from the south, and Alyssa had struck alongside her husband's army, seizing the north. There were Hollow Ones in the city, but they were weak and sluggish, cut down in seconds. Something was wrong, very wrong. There was too little resistance, in her opinion, and it was almost as though Gothel intended for the city to be reclaimed. Still, she had no time to stop and think, not now.

By evening, they were entering the castle. It was all happening so fast, and the nightmare was almost over, in her mind at all. _Nick, where are you?_ Her husband was fighting like a man possessed, and he brushed off every wound that came his way. He was whispering as well, talking to himself as he fought, and she was more afraid than she'd even been in her life.

He wasn't listening to her. He wasn't calming down. He wasn't stopping to breathe. All that mattered was vengeance, and even the news that he was going to be a father hadn't roused him from his… she didn't even know how to describe it. Apathy? Disillusionment? Weariness? She just didn't know.

A dozen soldiers accompanied them as they approached the throne room, and she already knew it wouldn't be enough. The army was still charging through the castle, emptying out the rooms of whatever miasma Gothel had inflicted upon the place and slaying the monstrous beasts that prowled the corridors. This was foolishness. They couldn't confront her, not without a powerful magic-user of their own, and even if her husband had his light… it wasn't an offensive talent, not like Nick's ice or Christopher's Dreamtouch. It was diversionary and powerful, but it wouldn't stop Gothel.

"Cornelius, slow down," she said, grasping him by the shoulder. He was muttering under his breath, talking to himself, and she couldn't hear what he was saying despite her excellent hearing. His words were garbled and jumbled as though he was speaking in tongues, and she shook him as roughly as she could. "Cornelius, you're scaring me."

He ignored her. They had reached the doors. Without hesitation, he kicked them open and drew his sword. Biting her lip, she followed, drawing her rapier. The room was dark, and it stank of death and staleness. The stone was porous and dusty, and mold covered the tapestries. Instantly, she wanted to turn and run. All her instincts begged her to leave this place. It wasn't right. The beast didn't like it here.

This place… it was unnatural.

"Gothel," roared her husband. "Show yourself."

A rush of smoke billowed across the room, and Alyssa gasped as a knife pressed against her throat. A second blade dug into the slit where her armour joined, and she blanched as she heard Gothel's heavy breathing in her ear. _No, not there. Don't stab me there. I'm pregnant._

The soldiers slumped around her, crumbling to dust as they hit the ground, and Gothel swayed on her feet, yet the blades didn't move. Alyssa tensed. She could break the grasp, but the dagger at her belly stopped her from trying. One false move, and it would take her in the one place where, even if she healed, she'd lose more than she was willing too.

"Cornelius," she said. "Please."

"Shut up," snarled Gothel. "Both of you, shut up. You think you're clever, don't you? Breaking Tremaine's advance and foiling my plans. Making my master think I've failed when I've succeeded. I'll give him what he wants. Don't you worry. The Beast Queen and the Prince of the Dawn. I'll hand you both over to him. He just needs the corpses."

"Release her," said Cornelius, taking a step forward, and his voice was colder and more dangerous than Alyssa could have considered possible. "Let her go, or I will make your end painful."

"I don't think so." Gothel cackled. "Foolish of you. You can hear the whispers, can't you, boy? They lured you right in. We can all hear them. He's in our heads. He's telling us what needs to be done. He's so proud. The master knows I've done a good job. This will not be my final bow."

Alyssa tensed. Nothing made sense. _What whispers._ She swallowed, feeling the knife tremble at her throat, and she took a deep breath. _Nick, for the love of Tsar Luna, where the hell are you?_ In front of her, Cornelius cocked his head to the side, and he _smirked._

"I hear the whispers," her husband said. "And they're telling me to take my revenge."

"What?" Gothel shrieked, and Alyssa sensed the moment of weakness. Grasping the witch's wrists, she yanked the knives away from her body, and she broke free of the hold. Panting, she tossed herself aside, and yellow light began to gleam in Gothel's hands.

"No. I'll not let it end. I have enough power still. I'll turn this entire kingdom to dust. Watch me!"

The world grew still, and the witch raised her hands above her head. The mist swirled around her, and Alyssa's heart sank. Blood ran down Gothel's cheeks, and her eyes gleamed red as the veins popped in her head. _No._ They couldn't run from this. Even as the curse spread, she couldn't bring herself to blame Cornelius for this. He was hurting and enraged, and she knew what he was like when he was angry. He rushed in without thinking, just like she acted without thinking… but this time..

Her husband was muttering under his breath, arguing in the garbled tongue he'd spoken in since King Eugene had spoken, and the stone pillars of the room began to crack. Alyssa climbed to her feet, looking about for her rapier. They had to end this. They couldn't let Gothel finish her curse. Yet, it could already be too late, and she had no idea where her weapon had fallen.

"Pitch Black," said her husband, and the world froze as she spun around to face him. "I accept your bargain."

For a single moment, her world shattered like glass, and then Cornelius broke the silence with a howl. Throwing back his head, he clutched at his cheeks, stumbling around as violet right poured from his skin. The shadows swirled around him, and he cried out, the vibrant blue of his eyes fading until only the whites remained. Purple-black light glowed at the edges, and his screams turned to laughs.

"No!" screamed Gothel. "No, you can't!" The curse flickered and died, drowned by a wave of shadows, and the witch clutched at herself. "Master, why have you forsaken me?" She shrieked, looking like a deer caught by a hunter's bow.

Alyssa watched in horror as her husband moved, lunging across the room so fast that he was a blur, even to her own eyes. Her hair rustled as he darted past her, his laughter wild and unhinged, and Gothel's gurgled scream echoed through the room. His fist shot out in front of him, and Gothel's arms went limp.

Cornelius stood with his arm raised above his head, and he was up to his elbow in Gothel's stomach. His bloody fingers stuck out of her back, and he shook her like a rattle, laughing wildly as her blood rained down over him, staining his hair. The laughter echoed from his lips, but the mirth was already dying.

He looked at her, and he smirked.

"Hello, Alyssa," he said, his eyes glinting. "Isn't it beautiful. Shall I present you with her heart? Maybe I'll keep yours as well."

 _That… That isn't Cornelius._ She took a step back, her words dying in her throat. He was walking towards her, jerking like a puppet, and his smirk was deepening. _Faceless. Oh, Tsar Luna. He's Faceless._

He lunged, pulling back his fist as he did so. Bracing herself, she caught his swing, and a sharp crack echoed through the room. Pain shot through her arm, and her wrist felt as though it was one fire. _So strong. He's stronger than me._ Cradling her wrist, she backed away, unable to keep the terror and grief from her eyes. _Cornelius, what did you do?_

Then, he jerked forward, his arm twisting behind his back. His wrist rotated one way and his elbow went the other, and he cocked his head to the left. Her husband stumbled, and his other arm twisted behind him as well. He jerked and writhed, contorting himself into shapes that just weren't humanly possible, and then, he turned to look at her with white eyes.

"Run," he whimpered. "Please. Run while you can."

Alyssa ran, stopping only to slam and bar the doors behind her.


	38. The Dark Side of the Sun: Part 1

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Three**

 **The Dark Side of the Sun**

 **Part One: Irradiate**

* * *

Alyssa shivered, clasping the cup of soup between her trembling fingers. It was rich and hearty, yet bland all the same. Everything was dull and listless to her senses, and as she sat beside the campfire, she couldn't help but look. The Palace of Corona gleamed with unholy light, and it pulsed. The light was harsh and pulsing, bleaching the world around it of colour, and she dared not get close.

None of them dared approach.

 _Oh, Cornelius… what did you do?_

Tears stained her cheeks, and she hung her her head. She should have tried harder. The minute he'd started talking to himself, she should have either knocked him out or locked him in his room until he calmed. _Tsar Luna, have mercy…_ She needed to help him, to save him from this curse, but this curse was unlike anything she had known. _Faceless._ He had cast aside Tsar Luna, and he had embraced the shadows. For what?

To save Corona.

Gothel's curse would have turned this entire kingdom into another Amoré, and he'd stopped her… but at what cost? _At what cost, Cornelius!_

"Queen Alyssa, you have a visitor," said a voice, and she turned to see General Silvanus standing behind her, a weary expression on his face.

"Send them through," she said, huddling closer to the crackling fire as she did so. It was cold, both on the inside and the outside, and she was lost.

Behind her, she heard the sound of footsteps and familiar arms closed around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace. She sobbed, unable to help herself as she leaned into her friend, his cold fingers linking with hers to steady them. _He came._ The world fell away, and she finally let everything she'd been holding onto pour out of her in a single burst of emotion. She shook like a leaf caught in a gale, and tears streamed through her eyes. The cup of soup fell from her hands, but someone caught it.

"Nick," she whimpered. "Nick, you came."

"As fast as I could," he replied, his voice strained. "What happened? The soldier's say Cor… what happened Alyssa?"

"We need the full story, Alyssa," added Morgan. "What happened? Where's Cornelius?"

She started, having not noticed he was there. Dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve, she looked around her. Nick crouched behind her, holding her close to him, and Morgan sat beside the fire, holding her cup. General Silvanus had slipped away, no doubt giving them some privacy, and the area around her tent was deserted. Taking a deep breath, she looked at them, and she swallowed down her tears. They were here, and she couldn't be weak, not now.

"After we lost King Eugene, Cornelius… changed. Muttering under his breath, talking to himself, drawing away from us. I… I tried, but nothing could snap him out of it. He wanted Gothel dead, and he refused to wait. Nothing could snap him out, not even the news that I was pregnant."

Nick sucked in a breath, and Morgan dropped the cup. Quickly, she realized what she'd said, and a fresh sob escaped her lips. _Tsar Luna, everything was going to shit, wasn't it?_ A shudder ran down her back, and she leaned into Nick, desperate for support as the world swam around her. He bore her weight without complaint, slender as he was, but she wanted to scream until her throat bled.

"We… marched on the capital. It wasn't hard. Gothel didn't have many forces other than her Hollow Ones. We disposed of them with ease. Cornelius charged ahead, and I followed because I couldn't stop him, not unless I held him down in front of his army and forced him to stop. I should have. I should have stopped him."

"Nobody stops Cor when he gets like that," said Nick, breathing a weary sigh. "What happened inside?"

"Gothel… she would have killed us all. Everything happened so fast. She was preparing a curse. Corona would never have survived it. Cor… he… he…"

It was too much. Her nails dug into her palms until they drew blood, and she hunched over as her tears overcame her. _Tsar Luna, why am I so weak? I should have stopped him. I should have done something, anything._ Morgan reached out and squeezed her shoulder, and Nick's breathing was ragged. _He's going to take it as hard as me. Oh, Cornelius… what did you do?_

"He became Faceless," she said, and they both stiffened. "Cornelius became Faceless to stop Gothel, and he succeeded. She's dead. He's… he's still in the castle, I think, but he's not Cornelius anymore."

A band of knights had set out to find her husband after she'd fled the castle, brave men who'd known him all his life. Their bones had been returned, bleached and brittle. Within the walls of the city, the light burned, and it was worth one's life to enter. The sun brought life to all it touched, but it had a dark side as well, and it could burn hotter than fire. The healers had a name of it—the harsh light that could not be seen with the naked eye, the light that scorched and poisoned, but she couldn't remember it. It didn't matter. What mattered was that her husband was now a servant of the shadows, and his light as lethal.

"Oh… Cor," murmured Nick, and there were tears in his eyes. "We'll fix this, Alyssa. We will."

She wanted to believe him, she did, but try as she might, she knew that this was something that couldn't be fixed. It was broken, and here was no saving a Faceless once they turned. If there was, then the massacre of Oloria would not have been as brutal as it had been. There was only one way this would end, and they all knew it, try as they might to deny it.

The only escape for a Faceless was death, and that killed her more than a knife shoved through her heart.

* * *

Nick stood on the edge of a cliff, staring out across the sea. As a boy, his cousin and he had often played on the shores below under the watchful eye of Uncle Eugene, and they'd built sandcastles, each trying to best the other. When they grew bored, they'd leap into the sea, splashing around until they were out of breath and his uncle had to carry them back to the castle because they were too tired to walk.

 _Cornelius… why?_

Guilt hung over him like a shroud. If he'd come with them from the start, perhaps he could have changed things. His duty lay with Arendelle, and he knew his place was there, but they'd needed him here as well. His powers could have made all the difference in the world, and Cor… his cousin might not have been forced into the position of taking on such a curse just to save his kingdom.

The waves lapped at the shore, and he bit his lip. He was too pale for the beach and he sunburned far too easily, but Cor had never listened to his protests. So, he'd drench himself in sun lotion, and they'd make the trek down from the castle whenever he visited Corona, and even when they were too old for sandcastles, they always had fun. The last time they'd visited, Nick had been horribly self-conscious. Skinny, tall, and as pale as snow, he'd been rather out of place in his swim trunks when compared to the sun-kissed people of Corona, but his cousin had smacked him upside the head when he'd mentioned it.

 _You look fine, idiot,_ Cornelius had said. _They'd look out of place in Arendelle, wouldn't they?_

It was hard to come to terms with the fact that those boys were both dead. He was colder now, so much colder, and Cor… his cousin was gone.

The Faceless Curse was not something you could bounce back from. It wasn't a curse devised by a sorcerer. It was self-inflicted, brought on by wholly accepting a deal with Pitch Black himself, and it didn't bode well. Sighing, he leaned on his staff, and the sea breeze tousled his hair. It didn't matter. He still needed to try. And, he believed he knew who it was that could help him fix this.

"Peter Pan. Peter Pan. Peter Pan."

Nick raised his staff, and the diamond shone like a star. Power coursed through him, and he directed the staff at the second star on the right, tensing as he shot a bolt of frost into the sky. The Diamond Lance of Nightlight was a very powerful weapon indeed, and as time passed, he was learning that he could do quite a bit more than he'd been able to do with his usual staff.

"You called, Nick?" asked Uncle Peter, and he turned to find Peter Pan hovering in the air, making as though he was sitting. One leg crossed over the other, the Lord of Neverland regarded him with a curious look. "The staff looks good on you. I always wondered how long it would be before I got to see it in action again."

"You're not bound by any decrees as far as I'm concerned," he said, accepting his honorary uncle's greeting with a nod. "I'd have called for Dad, but well, I doubt Tsar Luna would let him come."

"So you asked for me instead because even Manny can't change my true nature. Clever." Uncle Peter chuckled. "You're learning fast, Nick. Your mother used me as a go-between quite often as well. What do you need?"

"A cure for the Faceless Curse," he replied. He took a deep breath, knowing what he needed to ask, and already expecting the answer to be no. "I know there isn't one, not on this world, but Neverland isn't _of_ this world, is it?"

A shadow passed over Pan's face, and his eyes grew weary. Folding his arms, he shook his head, and Nick's heart sank. He'd known. He'd expected nothing, and yet he was disappointed all the same. There had to be something. This couldn't be the end. He wouldn't let it. Leaning on his staff, he clenched his fingers around the cool metal until his knuckles turned white, and the grass beneath his feet shrivelled under his frost.

"I know who you are, Uncle Peter. You keep it secret. You have to. But I know who you really are. There is always a way if one is willing to pay the price," he said, keeping his voice even. This was not something he'd wanted to rely on, but the staff spurred him on, stripping the lies from Pan's visage, revealing his true face for just a sliver of a second. _The Guardian of Children…_ it was a perfect ruse, but it was not the truth. His staff cut through lies and disguises like a hot knife through butter, and from the moment he'd realized that Uncle Peter might be able to help, he'd made the connection.

"I'd be careful, Nick," said Pan, a warning note in his voice. "Your father is a close friend, and I've known you since you were a baby, but _do not_ follow this path. It leads to nothing but ruin."

"So, there is a way then?" he asked, latching onto the slip as fast as he could. "Tell me. Please, Uncle Peter. I'm begging you. I already lost Mum. I can't lose Cor as well."

Uncle Peter surveyed him, and he turned to glare at the moon. Wordlessly, he moved his lips, and the moon seemed to _pulse_ in response. Nick took a step back, realizing what was happening, and he wasn't liking it at all. Tsar Luna rarely intervened, so why was he doing this now? He took a deep breath. Enough. This had gone on long enough. He was sick and fucking tired of decrees and rules from the Man in the Moon, from the decree binding his father to the ones binding each and every one of the Guardians.

Enough.

He slammed his staff on the ground, letting his frost spiral around him, and he glared at the moon.

"Tsar Luna," he said. "You are interrupting a private conversation. If you have something to say, show yourself."

" _Nick,"_ hissed Uncle Peter, grasping him by the shoulder. "Don't."

"You think you're helping us, aren't you? You're not. Don't make me say the name, Tsar Luna, and I promise you, I'll say it three times. You think this staff will be a fitting trade? It's a powerful weapon, isn't it. I'll give it up in a thrice to save my cousin, so either you help me or Rumpelstiltskin will."

A spasm ran across Uncle Peter's face, and Nick swallowed, fully expecting to be struck down for his outburst. Then, the moon seemed to dim, retreating back behind the clouds, and Uncle Peter let out a relieved sigh. Nick took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what had come over him, but he had meant every word. This was not how the story would end, and they were not pieces to be moved around a board as Tsar Luna and Pitch Black played their game.

"You're very lucky he didn't call your bluff," said Peter. "My… My father is not accustomed to being yelled at in such a way."

Right, that was a bombshell, and he took a step back. If he hadn't been leaning on his staff, he'd had keeled over in shock. _His father?_ That… that was different. Nick wasn't sure if it was good different or bad different, but nowhere it the Book of Pan or the Book of the Moon was this mentioned. This was brand new information, and he had no idea how to react.

Eventually, he decided it wasn't important. They all had fathers, and some of them just had fathers that were a little different than others.

"I wasn't bluffing," said Nick, not letting his uncle's revelation change the topic. "Don't doubt the price I'd pay to save the people I love."

Uncle Peter sighed. "Fine. On your own head, so be it, but listen to me, and listen to me very well. Rumpelstiltskin is bound to uphold a deal, no matter who asks him to make one. He is order and balance. He takes something and he gives something of equal value, and it doesn't matter which side you're on, he'll show up if you call. Your staff cannot be allowed into _his_ hands. Promise me that, and I'll help you."

"I promise," said Nick. "And I know a deal with you is binding, so you can consider it kept for all time."

"So, you do know more than you let on. I figured you were merely suspicious earlier," said Uncle Peter, looking troubled. "I warned Jack that aurum gold has a memory, and that weapons forged from the stuff aren't meant for mortal hands. So, you want to save your cousin?"

"There's no saving a Faceless, Nick, but Cornelius Fitzherbert was not born with his magic, as you know. He received it as a little something extra from a deal his mother made when he drowned. In this regard, he's a loophole to the laws of nature. He's already died. He's already felt my father's light. And, his powers were merely given to him for safekeeping, because we're all playing a much bigger game here than you can imagine. My father doesn't like to get his hands dirty, but Pitch is dangerous."

"I've seen the world end four times already. I've seen the hordes that Pitch commands. I've fought them since the Age of Dawn. Wonderland was the last. I'm the one being in all creation that can never die, even when the world is remade. Neverland is eternal, the meeting point of order and chaos, and I always return. There must always be a Peter Pan, you understand? But, you already know this, don't you, or your staff is telling you that I'm saying the truth, at the very least."

Nick nodded, and though he didn't quite understand, he followed along all the same.

"Cornelius has the light of Tsarina Stella in him—control over the sun—she's my mother, by the way, and she fell in the second age when Pitch escaped his prison for the first time. The world needs her light. So, for generations, we simply let it fall to earth in the form of a flower. This time, it was decided to let it go straight into a person who would use it. We're Guardians, and we're not all knowing, but we have a vague ideas of where the chips will land, you get it? Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that this makes him… different, a loophole, and it just might be enough to break his curse. He's already died, and he has the divine light of the sun in him."

"What do I have to do?" asked Nick. "Tell me."

Uncle Peter sighed, and the world fell away as he said the words.

* * *

The room was quiet as Pan entered but, then again, there hadn't been festivity within this manor since Tsarina Stella had died. It had been a dark time for the world, and it had been darker still for Tsar Luna. Yet, her light still persevered… the last droplet of the sun, destined to guide the mortal races of the world in their darkest hours. Or, at the very least, that had been the intention behind it.

Since time immemorial, the House of Solistaren had guarded the last of Tsarina Stella's light, but their time was at an end. Pan had tried, dammit, he'd tried to restore his mother's light to its rightful bearers… but it had been for nought. _All of this was inevitable_ , he thought. _We immortals challenge the Fates with our every breaths, but we can only delay that which was foretold._

"Are you proud of yourself?" asked Tsar Luna. His monocle gleamed in the damp firelight, and he ran a hand along his cane. It was a powerful weapon, forged from the wood of the World Tree and aurum gold, and there had never been a weapon quite like it in all of creation.

Tsar Luna leaned back in his armchair and regarded Pan with a cold look. For a moment, his expression flickered to one of deepest sorrow, but then it was gone and all that remained was the stern facade that all knew by heart.

"Proud?" asked Pan, forcing a cheery grin to his face. "I'm always proud. You think this world would have lasted as long as it had without me pulling every string I could?"

"That is what you do best, is it not?" Tsar Luna's tone was biting. "You prick and pry at every available opportunity. For what? Even this world, for all its beauty, will find its end in time. You restrain time's flow, Peter… you cannot divert it."

Pan shook his head. _How nihilistic._ Well, after so many eons, he reasoned that it must be hard not to be. Pitch and Tsar Luna, two sides of the same coin, two halves of the same whole. It must be exhausting to fight an endless conflict, and he did not blame the man for falling into apathy. Yet, it was hypocritical as well.

"You created the Guardians," said Pan, shaking his head. "You commanded us to defend this world… to defend all worlds. We cannot do that if we lose sight of what the world truly is."

He took a deep breath and gathered himself. It had been many years since he had first learned what it was that the world truly was, and it was not the sky and land and sea. It was not the empires and the magic, and it was not the celestial bodies which circled it.

It was the people. _Gwendolyn…_

"You have never been human, Peter," said Tsar Luna, cutting him off before he could elaborate. "Nor have I, for that matter. We are amongst the world's first immortals, and we must remember our duties. We are their shepherds, not their wardens. Their battles are not our battles. Their—"

"They _are_ us," said Pan. "Their lives are so short that it's like the flickering of the candle, but they can shine brighter than the sun in what time they have. Damn right they all have their flaws, but they try to be better. I've seen a lot of things that you haven't, Manny, and maybe that's because you spend all your time cooped up inside this manor letting time pass you by or maybe it's because you don't give a shit, but we still care. Alice cares. Jack cares. North and Toothiana and Bunnymund and Sandy all care. _I_ care. We do what we do because it's the right thing to do, not because it's our job."

The room was icy-cold, and Tsar Luna's eyes were chips of steel. The fire sputtered out in the hearth, and the candles winked out one by one until they were alone in the darkness. The only light came from Tsar Luna's eyes, each burning with the ferocity of a dying star.

"Leave," he said, his voice harder than granite. "I will not tolerate this insolence."

"I was right then." Pan snorted, turning away. "Mother would be ashamed of the man you've become."

A jolt ran through him the moment the words left his slips and he hit the wall with such force that he saw stars. Despite everything, he felt a grin curl across his lips. Tsar Luna rose to his feet, his monocle gleaming like silver fire, and he pointed his cane at Pan. It was futile to resist. This was the power that had brought the first twilight, and for all the power that resided within the Lord of Neverland, he was but a drop in the ocean compared to his father.

"You dare?" Tsar Luna asked through gritted teeth. "You whose hands are stained with the blood of millions. How many children have you ripped from their mothers? How many women have you butchered in their sleep? How many lives have you torn asunder?"

"All I did," snarled Pan, flinching at the sheer rage burning against him. "All I've ever done was for her legacy. What is one life against a thousand? What is the breath of an infant against the survival of a kingdom? I did what I had to do to make sure that the people I guard are safe. I fight because the people I guard need me. I stand vigil over the stars so that even in the darkest of nights, there is light to guide their way."

"I am what your legacy made me," he concluded.

Tsar Luna's cane cut through the air and struck him upon the cheek, hard enough to draw blood. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, and then Pan slumped to the ground as the Man in the Moon restrained himself. For the first time in eons, he looked his age, a weathered greybeard leaning upon his cane for support.

Pan raised a hand to dab at his bloody cheek, and he smiled. _Finally._

"What do you want, Peter?"

"The same thing I always want, Father," he said with an insolent smirk. "For you to intervene."

* * *

"You came," said Morgan, letting out a sigh of relief as her familiar footsteps echoed in his head. "I expected you'd be busy."

"I was, but you're more important," said Maleficent, taking a seat beside him.

Briefly, she hugged him before letting go, and he understood. His mother was not good with physical displays of affection, but it didn't matter. He'd always known she cared, and she showed it in other ways. Like now, when she'd clearly been quite occupied with the war effort but had come as soon as he'd sent for her, dropping everything because he'd asked.

They were sitting on the outskirts of camp, hidden from view by an outcropping of large rocks. This was not Arendelle, and the people here were still wary of him, and he could only imagine how they'd respond to the sight of his mother in all her dark finery. Nick, at least, was comfortable around her, but Alyssa… she was still warming to Maleficent, and he didn't blame her. He knew, better than most, what his mother had done in her past, and the sins that stained her hands.

It didn't matter to him. It had never mattered. She was his mother, and that was all he needed her to be.

"Where'd you go after Aquitania?" he asked, wanting to ease into the conversation rather than drop the bomb the second they were reunited.

"Somnia," she replied. "Our cottage is quiet without you there, but I needed to regroup and do some research. I was halfway to Albion when I received your call, and I turned around at once."

"Albion?" he asked, worry brimming in his chest. "Mum… you can't go there. You know that."

His mother chuckled. "That was a long time ago, Morgan, long before you were even born. I daresay that while I may not be warmly received, I'll not be in any danger. I can take care of myself rather well, and Merlin is a doddering old fool who never leaves his hovel. It'll be fine. Now, why did you call?"

Morgan bit his lip. She knew him too well. _The cottage is quiet without you there._ Guilt bubbled up in him, because for a long time, all they'd had was each other. He didn't want to leave her alone. Maybe he could bring her to live in Arendelle when this was all over. She might object at first, but he'd win her over to the idea. Things didn't have to be the same way they'd always been.

"Mum, how do you deal with a Faceless?"

Maleficent sucked in a breath, turning away from his to look at the castle. It pulsed with light, almost blinding in the night, and understanding seemed to dawn in her expression. Taking a deep breath, she clasped him on the shoulder, and she shook her head.

"You free them from their torment," she replied. "A friend of yours, I take it?"

"Nick's cousin. Cornelius, the Prince of Corona. He's a friend as well, a really good friend. He was the first person to know about Nick and I as well… I honestly expected to get punched in the face and thrown out of the castle with a stern warning to leave his cousin alone, I'll be honest, because they're close, and well, I'm me, but he accepted our relationship without batting an eye. I care about him, you know? He's been a really good friend."

"If I could, I would work my magic and end all of this," she said, closing her eyes. "But, the Faceless curse is beyond even my power. I'm sorry, Morgan. There is no other way but to kill him."

His mother looked troubled, and he leaned against her, closing his eyes. He'd suspected as much, but he'd needed it confirmed. As the realization dawned, he wanted nothing more than to go back to the day he'd first walked into Arendelle. He'd warn his friends of what was coming, and they'd be ready for it this time. But… as the thought crossed his mind, he realized that he couldn't do that. Changing time had drastic consequences, and the secret of doing so was lost to the world as well. Once, long ago, there'd been sorcerers who'd dabbled in the now lost art, but there was nobody alive with that power, not anymore.

"Talk to me," he said, taking a deep breath. "I know what needs to be done when morning comes, and it hurts, so for tonight, just talk to me. Before you have to leave again. We used to talk all the time, while I read and you worked on your spells. Can we pretend we're still those people, just for a bit?"

"I can do that," said Maleficent with a wan smile. "What do you want to talk about? Perhaps you'll tell me more about your relationship?"

"My relationship? Well, what's there to say. Nick and I are taking things one step at a time. His mother passed, and he's still coping, and then he's got a kingdom to rule, so that's always difficult. He says thank you for the letter, by the way. It was… unexpected. I didn't know you felt that way about Queen Elsa."

"I didn't care for her, to be honest. I did have a grudging respect for her, though. She didn't have to take you into her own home, but she didn't judge you by my crimes, and she welcomed you beneath her roof all the same. Besides, she's your boyfriend's mother. How could I not send my condolences to a man who may very well be my son-in-law in future?"

"Son-in-law?" he spluttered. That was a bit soon, wasn't it? Nick and he were closer than they'd ever been, and their romance had gotten physical, but that didn't mean either of them were ready for marriage. Not yet, at any rate.

"Morgan, I didn't mean right away," said his mother, cutting off his barrage of thoughts with a roll of her eyes. "But, I do think one day it will be there." As she spoke, her breath misted, and she frowned.

Morgan looked up in alarm. It was cold, very cold, and the gentle breeze had been whipped into a frigid gale. Leaping to his feet, his eyes grew wide as saucers as he took in small blizzard approaching the gates of Corona. _Nick, what the hell are you doing?_ Before he knew it, he was running. Hoarfrost crunched beneath his boots as he sprinted towards his boyfriend. _You can't go in there. Dammit, Nick. That light is toxic._

The city gates slammed shut behind his boyfriend, and frost curled around the hinges. The ice grew thick and unbreakable, but he threw himself against it all the same, his flames billowing from his lips. Ice melted, but even as steam rose into the air and water dripped onto the frozen ground, more ice spread, barring the way.

Cursing,he unfurled his wings, not caring for the shirt he ripped. If he couldn't get through the walls, then he'd go over them. As he rose into the air, a firm hand grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him down.

"No," said his mother. "You can't go in there. Prince Nicholas is shielded by his blizzard. If you enter, you'll be a pile of bones in seconds."

Eyes wild, he spun around. _I'll die._ He'd endure grievous injury and the like without hesitation to help Nick, but this… he'd do nobody any good if he rushed in and got himself killed. Swallowing, he clenched his fists. _Please, Nick, be safe in there._

* * *

The light burned, but it could not penetrate his frost.

Nick strode through the streets of Corona, his staff held out in front of him. Snow and ice spiralled forth, circling him and shielding him, and he narrowed his eyes as he took in the city that had been his second home. Skeletons lay in the streets, the bones brittle and bleached of colour, and the stone walls were cracked. Heat poured from the city, and it was so hot outside his blizzard that he feared the stone itself would begin to melt.

The foliage was white and almost transparent, and as the wind of his blizzard brushed them, they crumbled to ashes. This heat… this toxic light, if Cornelius was not stopped, it would spread. Nick didn't know how he knew, but he did. It was his cousin's most powerful spell, one that used the raw energy contained within sunlight to obliterate all that stood in its path, and it was the single spell that Cornelius had never wanted to cast. It went against his very nature.

The sun brought life to the world. To use its light to bring death was wrong.

 _Uncle Peter, I hope this works._

The castle gates swung open as he approached, and he froze them as well. Climbing the stairs to the castle doors, he closed his eyes as he reached the third step. Many years ago, he'd skinned his knees on his stairs, and he'd sat here crying uncle his cousin had come running up to scold him for not walking it off. But, even then, Cor had been kind, and he'd dabbed at the wound with a leaf that didn't have a single healing property to its name, pretending that it was enough to make the pain go away.

It had been, but now, Nick knew it was just a trick of the mind.

 _You were there for me in all my darkest hours. Today, it's my turn to return the favour._

Cornelius was waiting for him in the throne room. His cousin was shirtless, and purple-red designs covered his skin. They were runes and sigils, and they stood out like bruises, gleaming with a sickly light against his cousin's faint tan. From the waist down, Cornelius wore his armor, and there was a sword across his lap, the blade glinting in the toxic light. Hair dishevelled, eyes wild and showing only their whites, Cornelius chuckled, and he rose from his throne.

"Nicholas. I knew you'd come."

 _It's never Nicholas. It's Nick. You always called me Nick._

"How could I not?" he asked, and the blizzard blazed around him. The light within the throne room was almost blinding in its ferocity, and it was taking everything he had to remain shielded. "I do something stupid, and you're there to fix my mess. Well, you've done something stupid, and here I am to clean up the mess."

"Stupid?" Cor laughed, throwing back his head. "That's rich, coming from you. You're weak, Nicholas. I was weak as well. Look at my home. Look what Gothel did to it because I was too weak to stop her. I'm not weak anymore. There isn't a mess to clean up. Corona has been saved."

"Saved?" Nick raised an eyebrow. "Open your eyes, Cor. This isn't you, and it never has been. Your people are dying. Your kingdom is in ruins. Alyssa is out there with the rest of your army, and they can't get near you without burning alive. How is any of that okay?"

"Shut up." An ugly grimace spread across his cousin's face, and Cornelius drew his sword. "Enough. He said you'd come. He said you'd try to talk to me. You want me dead. That's right. I know now. He told me." Cor laughed, his eyes glinting like two suns. "That's why you're here now instead of coming with me when I left. You want my kingdom."

"No," said Nick, shaking his head. There was no getting through to his cousin, because this wasn't Cornelius. He had to remind himself of that. The cousin he'd grown up with was gone, and this was just a Faceless Vessel, bound to Pitch Black. Some traces remained of the man he'd once been, but he was an empty puppet.

Talking would get them nowhere. It was time to make an end. _Uncle Peter, your solution isn't a good one, but it saves him from this fate. Please be right._

Nick drew his sword, and he pointed it at his cousin. "This ends now, Cornelius. This madness will be over before one of us leaves the room."

"You can't hurt me," mocked Cornelius, a sickening smirk on his lips. "You _love_ me."

"It's because I love you that I have to do this," said Nick, tears in his eyes. "Now come, Lord of the South, and let's make an end of this tragic tale."

He lunged, raising his blade in a vicious uppercut. Cor ducked out of the way, slashing out with his sword, but Nick struck out with his staff, knocking aside the blade. Spinning, he whirled his blade through the air, and Cornelius jumped over it. A flare of light burst in Nick's face, blinding him, but he had fought Cor before, and he knew his cousin's tricks.

Dropping to the ground, Nick lashed out with his frost, and Cornelius grunted as jagged spikes of ice tore out of the ground, knocking him aside. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Nick leapt into the air, kicking off his boots as he did so, and he swung his staff towards the floor. Frost burst forth in all directions, dousing the room in snow and ice. His eyes widened as a sword flew through the air, barely missing him, and the sword had been flung with such force that it sank into the wall up to its hilt.

Before he could react, a fist slammed into his jaw, and he went flying. Spitting out a mouthful of blood and a loose tooth, he glared, but Cornelius moved like a blur. A fist caught Nick in the belly, and he coughed, spittle spraying from his mouth as he doubled over. _Tsar Luna, he's strong._ Cor fisted his hair, yanking him to the ground and, with his free arm, brought down his elbow into Nick's nose.

It broke, and Nick howled. Blood ran down his jaw as he ducked aside, hurling forth a dozen icicles to cover him. Cornelius wove through them with ease, spinning his blade in wide arcs to turn away the bolts of frost, and then he charged again. This time, Nick was more prepared, bracing himself as their swords sang across the room. It was a deadly dance, and this was not their yearly sparring matches where a small cut was considered a foul. No, they were duelling to kill, and even if he won, he knew a part of him would die as well. Ducking low, he struck out with his fist, and the dull crack as it made contact with Cor's face came from his own wrist. It was like striking granite, and he yelled as he pulled away, his sword falling from his grasp.

"I expected more," said Cornelius, and he leapt across the room. A bolt of harsh sunlight burst from his mouth, and Nick's staff clattered to the ground as he hurled himself out of the way, the skin along his arm burned and smoking.

Cornelius lunged, his sword gleaming, and Nick rolled out of the way. Daggers of ice formed in his hands as he dragged himself to his feet and, spitting out another mouthful of blood, he raised them in front of him. _I can do this all day._ Dashing forward, he spun. His daggers clashed against Cornelius's sword, diverting it's blow, and then they were duelling once more. Cuts blossomed across their skin as they traded blows, but for every slash Nick made, his cousin was able to reciprocate in kind.

Light bloomed in Cornelius's palm, and Nick ducked as it blasted through the wall behind him. Thinking quickly, Nick flung his daggers and made a dash for his staff. The daggers burst into snow a few inches from Cornelius's face, obscuring his vision long enough for Nick to grasp his staff and jump out the hole. For a second he was falling through nothing but air, but then he was flying. Eyes gleaming, he rose into the sky. _I have the advantage in the air. He can't fly._

Yet, even as the words went through his mind, Cornelius was rising to meet him. Light glimmered beneath his boots as he rose into the air, a feral grin on his face.

"It seems we've both been boosted," said Cornelius, chuckling. "It's funny. All this time fighting Pitch to try and save the world… he was the answer all along, wasn't he?"

"He killed my mother, Cornelius," Nick spat, his temper flaring. "All of this is his doing. All of this."

"Why?" asked Cornelius. "Because she fought against him. I joined him, Nick, and I saved my people. Gothel is dead because of his power. You should do the same. You all should."

Nick shook his head. _So… it has come to this, then._ There was no more need for words. Raising his staff, he called upon the blizzard once more. The air grew colder than the grave as it responded, and the white winds of the north burst from him. His sword forming in his hand, he attacked. Cornelius brought up his own blade, his light bursting from him, and the two met in battle across the sky.

" _The heart,"_ thought-spoke a cool, feminine voice in Nick's head. " _Aim for the heart."_

Nick turned, ducking beneath a prism of lightbeams that tore gaping holes through the crumbling city, and in the distance he could just make out Maleficent. Her magic poured from her staff, circling the city in a barrier. _She's keeping the fight contained. Good. Good._ The fury with which Cornelius and he were clashing was enough to destroy Corona ten times over, and he quickly realized that the only reason the camps were still standing was Maleficent's barrier.

" _For heaven's sake, stop pondering and kill the boy,"_ Maleficent thought-spoke. " _Even I cannot hold this barrier forever."_

Nick nodded and spun in the air. A frozen lance formed in his grasp, and he flung it with all his strength. Cornelius blasted it apart with a wave of his hand, but the moment lost to do so was all that Nick needed. He flashed towards his cousin, sword glimmering, and he was mere inches from Cornelius's chest.

Cornelius grinned, and Nick went flying. Harsh light seared at his skin as he plummeted from the sky. _No_. As he smashed through the window, Nick felt the drifts of cold take him, cushioning his fall as he slammed into the ground. His staff fell from his grasp as he rolled across the fall, coming to a bloody rest in front of the throne. Coughing and clutching at his chest, Nick clawed his way to his knees, the world growing hazy around him as his cousin landed and approached.

"I'm going to kill each and every one of you," he said, his smile growing. "I'll start with you and I'll end when the entire country is soaked in blood. It's all right. Pitch will raise you all again. We'll be together, Nick, all of us. In the new world where they can't hurt us anymore."

Staggering, Nick got to his feet, blood running from his lips as he shook his head.

"Even Alyssa?" he asked. "You'll kill her as well?"

For the briefest moment in time, something flickered in Cornelius' eyes. He froze, looking uncertain of himself. His sword was still raised and light still poured from him, but he seemed to be fighting something inside himself. _Yes… I can keep at this. This is his weakness. I can bring him back._ Even as the thoughts came to mind, Nick dismissed them. The were the ideas of Nick the Boy, but he was King Nicholas, and a king must put duty above all else.

 _I am a king first, and I am Nick second._

He lashed out, his open palm catching his cousin in the chest as Cor's eyes widened. His sword cut through the air, dangerously close to Nick's eyes. For a moment, nothing happened, and then Cor spat a mouthful of blood into his face as the icicle burst out of his back.

As Cornelius fell, the blue returned to his eyes. Blood ran down from his lips, and the harsh light faded around them. Nick caught him, cradling his cousin in his arms. Tears ran down his cheeks as he yanked the icicle out of his cousin's chest, and Cornelius groaned. The runed tattoos ignited, blazing away until they left pale-red scars in their, and Cornelius shuddered in his arms.

"Hey, Lord of the North," Cornelius whispered. His voice gurgled, and he was choking on his own blood. "What's the score?"

Nick swallowed, tears streaming down his face. Cupping his cousin's cheek, he replied.

"I'm in the lead, Cor."

"Until our next match, then."

And, with those words, he died.


	39. The Dark Side of the Sun: Part 2

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Three**

 **The Dark Side of the Sun**

 **Part Two: Lullaby**

* * *

Alyssa burst into the throne room with Morgan on her heels, and the world fell away. The room was in ruins and thick with half-melted snow, and Nick was kneeling in the middle. His clothes were soaked with blood, and in his arms… Cornelius was still and unmoving, with a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be.

"Oh…" she whispered, and had Morgan not grabbed her, she'd have fallen.

She wanted to scream, but her voice died in her throat. She wanted to hit something, but her arms felt like lead. Her husband was dead. She'd known, dammit, she'd known that this was the only option left to them, but Nick had promised. He'd promised that he could fix things, that the Guardians would be able to save Cornelius. _You promised you'd never leave me, that we'd always have each other._

"No," she said. "No. No. No No No NoNoNoNO."

With each word, her voice grew louder and shriller. Her claws were out, and she'd have shredded her own cheeks had Morgan not held her wrists firm, and he was straining to hold her down, to keep her from hurting herself in her grief. He was dead. It was as though the world itself had turned and left her reeling, and she trembled.

Morgan was strong, but in his human form, he couldn't match her. She wrenched herself free and half-sprinted, half-crawled across the room. Skidding to a halt beside her husband, she shoved Nick aside. _You said you could fix it! You promised it would be okay._ Her friend groaned as he hit the ground, and a sliver of guilt ebbed within her chest. Then, her eyes fell on Cornelius and the peaceful expression on his face, and there was nothing else she could think off.

"Wake up," she said, shaking him. "Dammit, Cornelius, wake up."

He would. He couldn't. No. He had to. _Wake up. Please. I can't do this without you, Cor. Please, please wake up._ Her tears dripped onto his chest, mingling with his blood, and the air seemed to grow heavy around her as she fought for breath.

 _Flower, gleam and glow._

"Nick, is that you?" asked Morgan.

"No." Nick groaned, his voice gurgling in his throat.

Alyssa looked up. Someone was humming, but none of their lips were moving. Morgan knelt beside Nick, tending to him, and Nick was watching Cornelius closely, as though waiting for something to happen. The humming grew, and she looked around, not understanding. It was familiar. _Cor's lullaby._ How?

 _Let your power shine._

A glimmer of light blossomed across Cornelius' chest, petals unfurling over the wound, and her eyes grew wide. _What sorcery is this? Hasn't he given enough?_ She glanced around, seeking the source, but the humming seemed to come from the castle walls themselves. Her breathing ragged, she clutched at him. No, whatever this, she wouldn't let it claim him. She wouldn't let him go.

 _Make the clock reverse._

 _Bring back… what once was mine._

 _Heal what has been hurt._

Cornelius glowed, and the light poured from him, enveloping them both. The flower bloomed, and the humming grew louder and louder until it was deafening, and before her eyes, skin stitched itself together. Colour returned to his cheeks. _How? What? I don't understand._

 _Change the fate's design_

 _Save what has been lost_

 _Bring back what once was mine_

Cornelius gasped, his eyes flaring open, and he lurched forward in her arms as though a jolt had just run through him. _How? Cor…_ He met her eyes, sheer amazement glimmering in his blue depths, and she sobbed with relief. She didn't understand, and she didn't know how it was even possible, but he was alive. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, she heard the tapping.

A tall man with dark walked into the throne room, his cane striking the ground with each and every step. A monocle glinted at his eye, and he wore both an immaculate suit and an impassive expression. A crescent moon topped his cane. Nick spluttered and Morgan sucked in a breath, but she reached for her rapier. Whoever this was, she could feel his power, and if he was a foe, he'd have to go through her before he got to Cor.

"Peace, Queen of Beasts," said the man, fixing her with a stern gaze. "I mean no harm to any of you."

One second, the man was in front of her, and the next he was standing above Nick. She turned, but Cor grasped her wrist, shaking his head. _No_ , his eyes told her. _Just wait._ The man reached out with his cane, brushing the tip across Nick's face, and the swelling dissipated. Her friend's nose snapped back into place, and the blood faded from his skin.

"Tsar Luna," whispered Nick. "Thank you."

 _Come again?_ Alyssa gaped, and she had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. _Tsar Luna? The Tsar Luna?_

"It's been a while since a mortal has had the guts to threaten me," said Tsar Luna. "You're very much like your father in that regard. Take care, Nicholas. There are dark days ahead."

Tsar Luna turned and approached her. Kneeling down, he reached out a hand, and it slipped through Cornelius' skin as though it wasn't even there. Her husband gasped, and she glared, ready to slash off that hand, but Tsar Luna simply chuckled at her anger. He withdrew his hand, cradling a single gleaming flower of light in his hand.

"This is twice now that you have escaped death, Prince of the Dawn," said Tsar Luna, shaking his head. "Once by Rumpelstiltskin's ploy, and now by the gift that is this blossom, the last light of Tsarina Stella herself. I warn you, there will not be a third miracle."

Cornelius nodded, and the world grew very still. Alyssa blinked, and when she opened her eyes, Tsar Luna was gone, and so was the flower. Unable to help herself, she let out a strangled sound, half-a-sob and half-a-laugh, and she embraced Cornelius as hard as she could. He groaned, returning her embrace, and she was sobbing into his shoulder as she held him.

"Never do that again," she said. "Die again, and I'll kill you myself."

"Isn't that backwards logic?" he managed, and she shook her head at his little joke. He was back. Her adorable, lovable goofball of a husband… he was alive, and they could rebuild. Everything would be okay.

He raised his hand to her cheek, and then he frowned. He jerked his fingers, and his eyes widened. He looked at her, and he bit his lip.

"That's odd…"

"It's not odd," said Nick, coming to sit beside them on the floor with a wan smile on his face. "To bring you back was a miracle. The… flower, I suppose, was what Rumpelstiltskin gave you to bring you back the first time, and it's what gave you your magic. And, without the flower."

"I don't have my light," said Cornelius, and he looked strangely saddened at the news. "A small price, I suppose."

 _I don't care about your power. I just need you._ Alyssa bit her lip, the weight of what had just occurred finally coming crashing down around her. Sobbing and clasping him in her arms as though her life depended on it, she buried her head into his chest, her body trembling. His fingers ran through her hair, and she cried harder, if only for the fact that just a few minutes ago, she expected that she'd never feel his arms around her again.

"Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me that this is the end. Never again, Cornelius. No matter what you stand to lose. Never again."

"I promise," he replied, drawing her head away from his as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Gently, he leaned in and brushed the strands of hair from her face before pressing his lips to hers, and she all but melted into the kiss.

"Cor?" Nick's voice cut through the air, and Alyssa stiffened, remembering that they weren't alone. Breaking the kiss, she pulled away from her husband and let him turn to his cousin, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder all the same. Beneath her, the snow melted, soaking her dress, but she barely felt the cold.

"It's all good, Nick," said Cor, the ghost of a smile spreading across his lips. "You did what you had to do."

Then, Nick was there, on his knees beside the two of them, hugging Cornelius so tightly she was afraid her husband might break in half. A hand squeezed her shoulder, and she nodded as Morgan sank down beside her, looking as though he was still processing everything that had happened. She didn't blame him. It was difficult for her to accept what had gone on in this very room herself, and she had been here for most of it.

"I'm sorry," said Nick, breaking the silence. There were tears in his eyes. "There was no other way. I didn't even know… I didn't even know if it would work. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," said Cornelius, returning his cousin's embrace. "At best, you'd have saved my life. At worst, you'd have saved me from a fate worse than death. Really, Nick, it's okay. It's okay. Besides, imagine the stories I'll be able to tell my kids. Hey guys, this is your Uncle Nick. He killed me but he's your godfather anyway."

The sound that escaped Nick's lips was half-a-sob and half-a-laugh, and he shook his head. Alyssa sighed before wrapping them both in her arms—her husband and her best friend—and then Morgan joined them. Not sure who was leaning on who or how they hadn't stumbled over yet, she simply closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy their victory.

* * *

Cornelius hesitated at the door, something holding him back from turning the handle. Inside this tower, his mother had been imprisoned by Gothel, and she had remained within during his short but bitter time as a Faceless—the dark side of his _light_ had scoured the entire city to its foundations—and he was not a fool. Well, perhaps he was, but the truth of the matter was that if his mother had survived Gothel's torture, it was very unlikely she'd have survived his toxic light as well. He didn't want to open the door and see what his decision had cost him. Even if he knew he had to, a part of him just wanted to bleach his mind of every memory of the past few weeks and live on in blissful ignorance.

Yet, he couldn't. He had taken Pitch's deal to spare his kingdom, for there was no telling what Gothel's final spell could have wrought had it been allowed to be cast. Corona would never recover from such a curse, and he had done what he had needed to, even if every fibre of his being had been against it. Yet, all things came with a price, and the power to defeat Gothel had come at a grievous one.

But, had the price not been paid already? How much more would it take before the toll was fully exacted? He'd _died_ , not for the first time, and as he'd lain in Nick's arms, choking on his own blood, he'd accepted his end. It would have been something worth dying for. Freedom for his people and safety for his wife and unborn child, not to mention a final end to the witch who had plagued his family since before his grandfather had ruled.

"Cornelius," said Nick, shaking him from his reverie. "Perhaps I should go in first?"

Cornelius closed his eyes and shook his head. No, he needed to do this, to see what his folly had wrought. His hand trembled as he turned to the handle, and then the door swung open with a dull creak. Gothel's magic lingered in the air, her spell of imprisonment faded with her death but still staining the very stones of the tower, and then it was as though a fist had closed around his heart and squeezed.

"Cor," whispered Alyssa, reaching out to grasp his hand.

"Tsar Luna above," swore Morgan, his eyes widening in alarm as the Nightmares flickered out the windows, neighing in frustration. The shadows swirled around the room, and Nick gasped, taking a step back at the sight that awaited them. Shaking of his wife's hand, Cornelius entered the room, falling to his knees beside his mother.

Queen Rapunzel sat cross-legged on the floor, her clothes in rags. Ragged tears ran down her cheeks, made by her own nails, and droplets of red fell like tears. Her eyes were glassy and haunted, and even as she turned to look at him, she didn't seem to see him. Her hair was greying, brittle nest upon her head, tangled and filthy, and then she screamed. The sound was ghastly: a blood-curdling wail that tore at his ears, and she yanked herself away.

It was as though Nick's icicle was ripping through his chest all over again as he followed her, pulling her into his arms and running a hand down her back, wincing at the ridge of her spine beneath his palm.

"Mum," he whispered. "It's me. It's over. You're safe, Mum."

Rapunzel shrieked again, trying to fight her way free of his embrace, but he held her tighter. This was no curse. True love could break a curse, he knew. His mother had been damaged in unimaginable ways, he realized, by Gothel's magic and by the Nightmares, and again by his light. But, she was alive, and if she was alive, she could be healed. He knew that much at least.

"How?" asked Alyssa. "How did she _survive?"_

"The Nightmares," said Morgan, and there was a dull green gleam in the air as he seemed to be studying something between his fingers. "I can't be sure, but it's almost as if they formed a sort of buffer around Queen Rapunzel and the worst of Cor's light. The remnants of Gothel's spell probably helped as well. In a way, I'd say she's quite lucky, all things considered."

"Lucky?" asked Cornelius in a hollow voice, turning to stare at his friend as he held his shrieking, trembling wisp of a mother in his arms. "You call this lucky?"

"Morgan, tact," hissed Nick in a low voice. Pursing his lips, Nick turned to Cornelius and sighed. "What he's trying to say is that Aunt Rapunzel is lucky to be alive. Cor, don't look at me like that. My mum's dead. She isn't coming back. Not ever. But your mum? She still has her life, and as long as she has that, she can heal with time, you know?" He sighed, hanging his head. "That came out wrong. You know what I mean."

"I know," said Cor, closing his eyes as his mother clawed at his back, digging in her nails in a frantic attempt to escape his hold. Seeing her like this broke him more than everything he had endured this far, but Nick was right. At the very least, his mother had a chance to recover, didn't she?

The castle shuddered, and a dull roaring filled his ears as he held her. A second later, Nick was beside him, blanched and unsteady, but tugging on his shirt all the same.

"Cornelius, we can't stay in here," Nick urged, biting his lip as he spoke. "The entire castle could come down at any minute."

Then, Alyssa was there at his side, grasping his mother by the shoulders and helping her to her feet. Shakily, Cornelius stood, shooting his wife a grateful glance as the rumbling got louder. Turning, he took a step back as Nick swung his staff towards the nearest wall, and a torrent of frost bit into the stone. At the same time, Morgan pulled back his head and breathed forth a tongue of flame. The stone cracked, crumbling away to reveal a gaping hole, and he blinked, not sure what was happening.

"The staircase collapsed," said Morgan in an urgent voice. "We need to move. Now."

Wings unfurled from Morgan's back as he moved to grasp Alyssa by the waist, who in turn was holding a struggling, screaming Queen Rapunzel. Beating his wings, he rose into the air, floating a few inches above the ground as he made his way towards the hole in the wall.

"Hold on," said Nick, and Cornelius wrapped his arms around his cousin's shoulders as Nick kicked off his boots and rose into the air, sagging slightly under his weight. A few seconds later, they were out the window and he clenched his eyes shut at the sight of his city. _Tsar Luna, forgive me._ It was so bleached of colour that it was blinding beneath the sun, and even as Nick flew them towards the camp, the buildings were crumbling and giving way. With a sound like thunder, the castle finally came down, throwing up clouds of dust.

He'd saved Corona, he had. But, he hadn't saved all of it. A shudder ran through his spine. What would have happened had Nick not stopped him when he had. Pitch had wanted him. That was the only way he could describe it. When he'd been at his lowest, the Nightmare King had come to him, preying on his weakness and turning him to the shadows, and had his cousin not… not killed him…

"Nick," he said softly, clinging on like a limpet as his cousin descended. "Thank you, okay. Don't interrupt. Don't argue. Just accept the thank you. I can't imagine how hard it was to do what you did; honestly, I don't think I'd have been able to do it had the roles been reversed."

"What are brothers for?" asked Nick, a wan smile on his face as they touched down. "I'm just glad it worked out in the end, though I'll have you know I cussed out Tsar Luna to make it happen, so you're probably going to need to name your firstborn after me or something to make it up."

 _Brother._ Yes, that was exactly what they were. They may just be cousins through their mothers, but their bond went far deeper than that. Nick was both his best friend and his first friend, and they'd been through a lot together over the years. This… This was just one more thing to add to the history of the two of them.

"If it's a boy, I'm actually hoping to use the name Flynn," said Cornelius, running a hand through his hair and feeling just a little bit lighter as he sank to the grass beside his cousin, ignoring the dozen or so soldiers hurrying towards him. "I think Dad would have liked that."

"He would, Cor," said Nick, patting him on the shoulder. "Uncle Fitz always did like an inside joke."

For a moment, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry, and he settled for simply sitting there on the grass and taking in the world around him. Morgan was nearby, holding Queen Rapunzel still along with Alyssa, and the soldiers were standing around them all in a wide circle, wearing expressions of both disbelief and horror. General Silvanus was nearby, judging by his voice, but he seemed to be stuck in the crowd, still shoving his way towards them. Healers were squirming past the soldiers, looking haggard and weary but coming all the same.

Beneath his palms, the grass was soft, and the breeze was warm against his face. In the distance, he could hear the sea, and while the familiar flash of panic was still there, it didn't cripple him as it once would have. His chest ached, which was to be expected given he'd just been run through with an icicle. And, that was the crux of it. Despite everything, he was simply thankful to be alive, and to have this one last chance.

Finally, he took a deep breath and turned to his cousin, his mother's screams snapping him back to reality.

"Nick… What are we going to do?"

"Well," said Nick, looking thoughtful and sounding pained. "Nightmares did this to her, I'll wager. It's a good thing we have a friend with the ability to control dreams."

* * *

"It's a shame Ali couldn't make it," said Christopher as Carpet began the descent, and he left the rest unsaid. Jessica was a perceptive witch, and she'd likely already realized that he'd rather be travelling with his best friend as opposed to his, well, Ali had termed them frenemies, but Christopher wasn't quite sure how much he liked that word. It made sense in a way, given that Jessica and he had a habit of sniping at each other, but they also had a bit of an understanding all the same.

It was just a very odd relationship, and given the nature of his visit to Corona, he'd just rather have Ali with him as opposed to a girl who was pretty much a stranger to his entire group of friends.

"Yes, well, he's rather busy and has no idea how magic works, so I'm the better choice," she said, rolling her eyes. Mercifully, her arms were no longer wrapped around his waist as they'd been when they'd first began their flight, because he really didn't know how to react to that in an appropriate manner. The first ride on Carpet was always unsettling, he knew, so he hadn't objected to her holding onto him for support… but it had felt a little weird all the same.

It had also caused a slight reaction in him that he really didn't want to think about, mostly because with everything on his plate, his hormones were the last thing he needed to contend with.

Dismissing the strange thoughts, he took in the camp below him. Tents and tarpaulins spanned the fields surrounding the capital of Corona, but his eyes were drawn to the city itself. It lay in ruins and, even as he watched, the stones crumbled in the sea breeze. He bit his lip—the remnants of strong magic clung to the air like a noxious vapour—and he sincerely didn't want to meet whoever it was that had been responsible for the damage. He'd seen the ruin magic could bring firsthand in Amoré, and he'd witnessed the aftereffects in Agrabah, but this was something else entirely. It was almost like a log that had been left in a fireplace overnight, retaining its shape until prodded.

Climbing off Carpet, he ran his fingers across the tassels before as Jessica hopped to the ground, staring at the city walls with a strange expression on her face. Ignoring her, he glanced around him, taking in the circles of tents. There were soldiers staring at them, keeping a wary hand on their weapons, but given that he hadn't been apprehended yet, it was safe to say that they'd been warned about his arrival. Despite never meeting any of them before, he supposed that arriving on Sultan Aladdin's flying carpet was one way of verifying your identity.

"Errr," he said, glancing around for someone, anyone really, who looked somewhat approachable. "Could someone point me towards Prince Cornelius' tent? Or King Nick's?"

"Honestly, are you a prince or not?" asked Jessica, prodding him in the ribs. "Stop talking to your boots and actually find someone who can help us out."

"Well, excuse me for being polite," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I was plenty loud. I'm sure someone heard."

"Yes, I did, and I'm standing right next to you," she said. With a long-suffering sigh, she turned away from him and, in a very loud voice, asked, "For the love of Tsar Luna, are you all going to stand there or is someone going to get the nearest available monarch?"

"No need to yell," said a familiar voice from behind him. "Whoever you are."

Christopher turned, running a hand through his hair as he caught sight of Morgan making his way towards them with a weary look in his eyes. Almost instantly, a smile spread across Christopher's lips; despite the grim situation, it was nice to see that his friend was well, given that the last he'd heard from Arendelle, the dragon had taken a quarrel to the gut. Morgan's wings were out, folded against his back as he walked, and Christoper didn't miss the suspicious looks shared by the soldiers.

"You didn't tell me you know a dragon," hissed Jessica, pursing her lips as she poked his side. "And you certainly didn't tell me you knew _that dragon."_

"That dragon can hear you," said Morgan, rolling his eyes. "Found a new friend, I take it, Christopher?"

"Morgan, this is Jessica, my magic tutor, and Jessica, this is Morgan, consort to the King of Arendelle."

"Technically, the official term would be royal paramour, but Nick says it makes me sound whorish," said Morgan, sounding amused. Reaching out, he clapped Christopher on the shoulder and nodded. Then, as though a switch had been flipped, the mirth faded, and he looked more worn than Christopher had ever seen him.

"How bad is it?" asked Christopher, stepping forward.

"It's bad, Christopher," said Morgan. "Before she left, my mother told me that Queen Rapunzel was past saving. She was in that tower for a long time, and the Nightmares broke her mind. Even if… even if there is a way to cleanse them, she was exposed to Cor's light as well. The toxins are in her blood. However long she has, it's a fraction of the long life she could have otherwise had."

Christopher bit his lip, feeling unsteady on his feet. This was worse than he'd anticipated, and he didn't mind admitting that the thought of Queen Rapunzel being in such a state made him rather sad. He'd met her a few times over the years, and she'd always struck him as a kind woman. The world would be darker for her passing indeed. _Only the good die young,_ thought Christopher, considering his own mother, who happened to still be alive, sadly.

"I don't know what I can do," said Christopher. "But take me to her. I'll do my best."

* * *

Jessica paced the tent awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with herself as Christopher tended to the ailing Queen Rapunzel. He was kneeling beside the bed, his fingers pressed against her temples, and sweat beaded across his brow as he navigated her dreams. This was something far beyond him, Jessica feared, but he had been adamant to help from the moment he received the summons.

It must be nice to have friends that you could drop everything for, and friends who would drop everything for you in return, she mused. If she was being truly honest with herself, she wouldn't have answered Ali's summons had he not offered to pay her for teaching Christopher. Friends, her mother had taught her, were weaknesses that revealed the chinks in your armor. Love was worse, for it was all but a bull's eye. For a place that was over the rainbow, her home was possibly the least joyful place she had ever been.

She stared at the others: King Nicholas was locked in conversation with Queen Alyssa and King Cornelius, and the discussion seemed tense. She couldn't hear much of what was said in hushed whispers, but it was clearly enough to worry them all. Jessica sighed. This was not her place. The game of kings and queens was not hers to learn, and had it not been for Christopher pleading for her to accompany him in case he needed her assistance with his magic, she would have remained in Agrabah. This was not her place in the world, and while it was one thing to spend time with the more down-to-earth royals, the ones currently in front of her did not seem as relaxed as Ali and Christopher were.

Then again, looks could be deceiving. Who knew what lay beneath their grim expressions?

"People watching is a particularly fond hobby of mine as well," said Morgan, coming to stand beside her. "You can tell a lot about someone by the way they carry themselves." His tone was pointed, as was his expression, and she rolled her eyes in response.

"I take it that pacing in the presence of royals is not permitted?" she retorted.

"It is, actually. Nick paces quite often when thinking. What isn't permitted in any social circle is staring at someone like they're a zoo animal."

Jessica nodded, unsure of how exactly to respond. The dragonling was still eyeing her with suspicion. Every so often, he would sniff at the air, and she winced as she finally realised what it was. He had likely never smelled her kind before. The people of Oz were a very different sort than the ones of this world, and she was usually able to conceal that fact easily. Dragons, on the other hand…

She opened her mouth to retort, but was stopped by a gasp. Without hesitation, she whirled to catch sight of Christopher go rigid. White-gold light blazed around his eyes, and he was stiff as a board, his veins throbbing against his skin. Jessica darted to his side, all but pushing aside the other royals who were in the way, and grasped his wrists. _His reserves are low. He's slipping._ Jessica pursed her lips as she took a deep breath.

"Stay back," she commanded, not liking the way in which the other royals were attempting to assist her. Magic was her sphere of influence, and she was easily more skilled than the rest of them were. " _Adtrecto,"_ she murmured.

Blue runes circled her hands before sinking into her flesh, and fine blue ropes bound her hands to Christopher's. Immediately, she felt her magical reserves begin to drain as he drew upon her power, and he seemed to relax. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed herself, hoping that it would be enough to lend him her strength. She would not be able to hold the bond forever, but just a little would be enough to spark his consciousness and draw him back to himself.

Then, suddenly, the world spun around her, and she felt his mind touch hers.

" _Help me,"_ Christopher thought-spoke through their link, and she accepted the invitation without wasting a single breath. Jessica closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was standing in an empty white wasteland beside him.

"Where are we?" she asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"I got lost," he replied with a shrug. "One minute I was in Queen Rapunzel's head trying to heal the damage caused by the Nightmares, and the next I heard someone calling my name. I turned around and my connection to the queen broke, and here I am."

"Then we're still in a dream," replied Jessica. "But whose?"

She looked around, trying to find something, anything that could help her identify the realm she was in. In the distance, she saw something. Taking his hand, she led him towards the sparkling remnants of glass upon the floor, and she bit her lip as she knelt beside them. It was a broken mirror. Quickly, the pieces began to lock together in her mind.

"We're in a Mirror World," she said. "Regina's brand of magic. It's intrinsically linked to the world of dreams, because these worlds are used as eternal prisons."

"But I was called here," said Christopher. "Who would…"

Several things happened at once. A shrill shriek of relief tore through the air and they whirled. A blur of pink and gold flashed towards them. Then, there was a sharp tugging in her navel, and she felt herself jerked back into the void along with Christopher. He yelled, and the blur screamed, and then they were back in the tent.

Jessica looked around, her head throbbing. Green mist hovered in the air, and she saw Morgan Thorn flicking his wrist while leaning against King Nicholas, looking drawn. Queen Alyssa was on her knees, clutching at her temples, and King Cornelius knelt beside his mother's bedside, clasping her shuddering form.

"What happened?" asked Christopher, sounding weary as he leaned against her. His breathing was ragged as though he'd just ran a mile, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. _Too hard. He's pushing himself too hard._

"You slipped," said Morgan. He coughed. "Not sure what happened, really, but your dream whips came out to play. They're… difficult to contain."

"I'm sorry," muttered Christopher. "It's… difficult." He rose to his feet, and Jessica rose with him, supporting him as he stood. He was trembling, and she was not sure he'd even make it back to his tent at this rate.

"The Nightmares… they're complicated," he continued. "It takes a lot to break through just one of them, but Queen Rapunzel has been exposed to a lot more than just one. It's not beyond my power to fix, but it's not going to be easy, and if I do too much too quickly, it'll kill her. And, spending too long in the Dream is dangerous for me as well. When I _slip…"_

He fell silent, and Jessica noticed every eye on the tent fixed on him.

"That's fine," said Nicholas, after what felt like forever. "Get some rest, Chris. We'll talk in the morning."

The dismissal was so abrupt that Jessica wanted to yell at the king for his insensitivity, but she bit her tongue. Christopher was exhausted, and he was her priority right now. She guided him from the tent with a stiff nod, ignoring everything as she steered him towards his own tent. It didn't take long to get there. Pushing aside the tent flap, she settled him down on the edge of the bed and shook her head in irritation.

"You're rather pretty when you're mad," said Christopher. He leaned back against his pillows, his eyes half-closed, and he smiled at her through his tiredness.

His comment took her by surprise, and she paused. Raising an eyebrow, she took a seat beside him on the bed.

"Excuse Nick," said Christopher. "Morgan looked ready to collapse."

There was a nagging feeling in the back of her head as she pondered what that meant, because she was sure there was some significance, but she didn't care. _You're pretty when you're mad._ His words echoed in her head, and she wondered if he'd even meant to say that out loud. It just didn't seem like something he'd say. Then again, she didn't know him all that well, but she did know him well enough. This was confusing. It really was. She should just go back to her own tent and leave him for the night, but she knew that she couldn't do that without first getting the answers she needed.

If Ali was here, he'd probably be giving her one of his knowing looks.

"You called me pretty," she said finally, breaking the silence. "Why?"

"Did I?" said Christopher, a tinge of colour spreading across his cheeks. "I don't recall."

She narrowed her eyes, but before she could press forward, his eyes were flickering shut. Prodding him in the chest, Jessica shook her head.

"Don't think you just get to fall asleep without giving me an answer," she said. "I have a lot of questions."

Christopher swallowed, and he shook his head in exasperation. "Fine, you get to ask one."

 _Why'd you call me pretty,_ she wanted to ask, but somehow she knew that it wasn't the most important question that she should ask right now. It was something that she could pester him about some other time. Right now, she had deeper concerns, even if his slip of the tongue had momentarily driven them from her mind.

"Who was that in the Dream?" she asked. "It sounded like a girl. When we were in the Mirror World, who was the girl who screamed?"

Christopher shook his head and, if it was even possible, he looked even tireder. Shaking his head, he slumped back onto his pillows and sighed.

"Margaret," he said. "It was Margaret."


	40. Neverland

**Chapter Thirty Four**

 **Neverland**

In Neverland, it was said that you didn't age. That was a lie, Pan knew, one he preferred not to correct. It was better that people didn't know. Time flowed here as it did in all places, but his boys were frozen in time all the same. It was a paradox and a mystery to all but three, and now only two remained who knew the truth. Neverland was his realm, and his realm was very old.

"Almost as old as the moon," he said to himself as he walked along the quiet strip of beach.

Neverland was his home, and it had always been his home. A realm that was not truly a realm, and even Tsar Luna couldn't enter without his permission. His father had never loved this place, for it was chaotic by nature, but his mother had loved it for its order. She was dead now, though, dead for thousands and thousands of years.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Pan, finally coming to the spot that he'd been looking for.

On the north shore of Neverland, the coast was rocky. A single large rock rose from the beach, overlooking the sea of stars, and Jack Frost sat at top of it. Pan knew this place well. Jack came here often, often on the day after the Winter Solstice, and he'd mope about for days before being cheered up enough to return to his duties. This time, though… Pan was not a fool, and he remembered all to well the pain of losing your true love.

Jack would likely never recover from losing Elsa, just as he had never recovered from losing Tink. He closed his eyes, trying to dispel the thoughts of his beloved fairy, but it was already too late. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he floated into the air and perched beside Jack, letting his own memories overwhelm him.

.

 _Pixie Hollow was one of his least favourite places in all of creation, yet for some reason, Alice enjoyed dragging him along to this place all the same. It was a small cafe on the edge of the village, and not for the first time, they were arguing about his choice to work alone. The Godmother didn't understand, he knew, but that didn't change anything. In all cosmos, there were only three people who knew his true nature, and they knew exactly why he didn't need an assistant._

 _Tsar Luna. Himself. Pitch Black._

 _It was an old story, one he didn't care to relive, but suffice to say, peter Pan did not need an assistant, especially when the last dozen had been so useless._

" _Alice, I don't need another assistant." He snorted, rolling his eyes. "It's a right mess to train them right, and by the time they're actually useless, they're dead. I don't need a fairy."_

" _Oh, is that so?"_

 _Pan started, swivelling around his seat and raising an eyebrow. Behind him, Alice chuckled, but all thoughts of the annoying Godmother were already being pushed aside. A young fairy approached them, dressed all in green with her blonde hair pulled into a high bun_

" _You know," she said. "When someone new comes to the village and orders sparkleberry wine, they at least pretend to drink it so as not to offend the owners."_

 _The fairy gestured at the cup in front of Pan, which had been untouched since it had been put on his table. He didn't quite trust the smell of it, to be honest, and the colour seemed rather off as well._

" _Do we know each other?" asked Pan, raising an eyebrow at the fairy's confidence. It was very rare for anyone to speak to him so openly, given who he was. Not that he minded, to be honest. He had grown bored of the formality, and in Neverland, there was none at all._

 _Still, when he wasn't in Neverland, he was a Guardian, and he had to keep his serious face on._

" _Not yet," said the fairy. "But today's your lucky day."_

" _Really? Why?" Amused, Pan took the bait, ignoring the knowing look that Alice shot his way._

" _Because today's the day you get to meet Tinkerbell."_

.

"How do you deal, Peter?" asked Jack, looking at him.

Pan sighed, crossing his legs and looking out over the sea. The waves were gentle as they rolled against the shore, and a thousand stars glimmered beneath the surface. There was a new constellation in the sky—a favour to Jack, in to nobody else. Thirteen stars formed a single snowflake, resting just to the west of Orion's Belt, and it would remain there forevermore.

Beside him, Jack rested his chin on his knees, and his arms were wrapped around his legs. His hood had been pulled up to hide his face, but Peter knew that if he pulled it back, he'd seen frozen tears on his friend's cheeks. Time had passed, and the world below was moving on from the loss, but for Jack… Peter sighed again, reaching out to clap a hand onto his friend's shoulder. Death was a part of love, especially for an immortal, but the truth hung unspoken in the air. Elsa had not just been a casualty of the war. Her death had been strictly personal, and Pitch had emerged from the shadows to claim her life.

And, it did not take a historian to remember the long history between Pitch Black and Jack Frost.

"I do my job. I visit Alice when it gets to be too much. I look after the boys. I visit her grave. I answer the call of those who summon me," said Peter with a shrug. "You never get over. You just get past. It's the price we pay for being immortal."

"I knew," said Jack, his voice sounding ripped from his throat. "I knew she'd die one day. I could see it. I look the same as I always do, but whenever we met, she looked older. I just… I never expected it to end like this. I thought we'd have the rest of her life."

"Be grateful for the time you had, for if you linger on the time you lost, you'll go mad, Jack." Pan squeezed his friend's shoulder.

"You sound as if you're speaking from experience."

"I am." Peter sighed, hanging his head. When everything was quiet, he could still hear her laugh. It tinkled like a little bell in the corners of his mind, never truly leaving, and when the laugher came, so did all the other memories. The feel of her dainty hands in his, and the quick wit she'd always had. Her jealousy, which had been an endearing nuisance, and the beating of her wings as they'd flown across the skies.

.

" _I don't take peppermint in my tea," he grumbled as he accepted the cup from her._

" _You will after you taste it," she said, raising an eyebrow. Turning away from him, her wings fluttered as she rose into the air, perusing the shelves of his library for the book of records she'd need. There'd been a discrepancy, and the fairies were rather put out that he'd apparently reneged on a deal._

 _The thought of him doing so was a grievous insult, but Alice had calmed him down so that he didn't want to poke out their eyes and hang them from his tree. Him? Renege on a deal. How ghastly. Besides, it was always others who tried their best to worm out of deals they'd begged him for._

 _Pan was always happy to help… for the right price. It was his nature, after all. Or, half of his nature, at any rate._

 _Still glaring at Tinkerbell, he brought the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip. It was hot, but not scalding, and he raised an eyebrow at the slight hint of peppermint. That was… actually quite nice._

" _I could be allergic to peppermint," he said, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of telling her that her brew was the best thing he'd ever tasted._

" _You have no allergies," she said, rolling her eyes as she fluttered down from the shelves. "Now, what was the deal you made with Silvermist?"_

" _The usual. Eternal beauty in exchange for fairy dust. The problem is that beauty is subjective, and the pixie she's been trying to bed still doesn't consider her attractive, so she thinks I've reneged."_

" _Oh? Then why didn't the stupid girl just ask for his love instead?"_

" _Beats me," said Peter, raising an eyebrow in surprise. He'd thought much the same thing when he'd made the deal with Silvermist, even if it may have been a bit of an unethical deal to make considering it concerned another person's free will. That aside, there were very few people in the world who could think like him and as quickly as he did when it came to getting the most out of a deal, and for the first time since agreeing to take Tinkerbell on as his new assistant, he realized that Alice may have been right._

" _The tea was good," he admitted grudgingly. "Now, let's show this to the stupid fairies and then we can head off to Earth for the day. I need to place two of the boys tonight. They're getting a bit too old for Neverland."_

 _._

"Tink?" asked Jack. "You never talk about her."

"There's nothing left to say," replied Peter, a shadow flickering over his eyes. "Suffice to say, the day she died was the darkest day in Neverland. I was… different before I met her, much more open about who I was and where I came from. All those secrets died with her, and it's best they stay buried."

Peter paused, realizing he'd already said too much, and he internally cursed himself. He had let his guard down and allowed the stupor Jack was in to cloud his own judgement, to make him think of Tink again. That was his second mistake. The first had been helping Nick, and confirming the lad's suspicions. Aurum gold had a memory, and those weapons were not meant for mortal hands. He shuddered. He liked Nick, he really did, and allowing Jack to pass the Diamond Lance onto that boy may very well be a mistake that would one day come back to haunt them all. No… Manny would have never allowed it without knowing, and Tsar Luna was many things, a terrible father least of all, but he knew how to play the game.

If, for even a moment, Tsar Luna had entertained misgivings regarding the weapon, he'd have forbidden it.

Realizing Jack was staring at him, Peter frowned, wishing one of the boys would show up and give him an excuse to return to Hangman's Tree. No doubt there was work to do, especially with the newest arrival to their little band, but Nibs likely had it all in hand. Of all the Lost Boys who'd come and gone, Nibs had been with him the longest, and to be honest, he could likely run Neverland just as well as Peter could at this point.

"Who were you before Moony raised you, Peter?" asked Jack finally, curiosity brimming in his voice as he broke the silence. "You know all of our stories, but I just realized, nobody knows yours."

"My story?" Pan chuckled despite himself. "It's very old and very complicated, and it's not something I like to share."

The moon hovered above them, casting down its light, and Peter frowned. What was the harm in sharing his tale? He understood, deep down, why Alice and the others could never know—why they'd be repulsed by his true nature. But, Jack was rather different. He'd known the man in a past life, long ago, even in Jack couldn't remember much of his life from when he was Nightlight. Those memories were dead and buried, stripped away by Tsar Luna, and… Jack was different.

And, if Nick knew, then Jack would learn about it sooner or later, and it would be best coming from him than from someone else.

"None of us like to share the stories of how we died, Peter," said Jack, raising an eyebrow. "It's not exactly a good memory."

"Very well." Peter sighed, leaning back on his palms and stretching. This would be a long story, but he'd try to keep it as succinct as possible. "In the first age, you fought Pitch and imprisoned him, sacrificing yourself in the process," said Pan. "Nightlight, shine bright, we all know how the rhyme goes. You stood alone, because who else was there? Tsar Luna was young, still learning of his role in the grand scheme of things, and you were his Guardian. Tsarina Stella? She was never a warrior. Well, I was there as well, but I was still a kid, no higher than your knee."

Jack started, frowning. Confusion etched across his features, and Peter could tell the other man was straining, trying to remember a life that was lost to him. Not wanting to dwell on this and eager to distract Jack from pushing to deep on the mental blocks Tsar Luna had placed within his mind, he hurried on with his tale.

"Then, in the second age, Pitch escaped. He attacked, frenzied and furious, desperate for revenge. My parents went out to meet him. My mother never returned. My father did, and he had aged a thousand years in a day upon seeing my mother's lifeless body. The sun lost much of its light that day, becoming what it is today."

"Peter… You don't mean… Your parents were?"

"Surprising, isn't it?" asked Pan, turning to his friend and forcing his usual grin to his face. "I'm not the Guardian of Children, Jack, they just happen to be my ones who best represent what I stand for. I'm the Guardian of Chaos and Order, the son of Tsar Luna and Tsarina Stella."

"Of course," he continued, watching as Jack spluttered like a fish out of water. "When the age ends and Manny has to remake the world because something has gone terribly wrong, I simply return to Neverland and await the next cycle. I'm old, Jack. Very, very old. Almost as old as you are, to be honest, but I don't think it counts since you died before you were resurrected and raised anew. I'll be honest. Before I was raised as a Guardian, I was perhaps the worst person in existence. The third remake was actually not an attempt to get rid of Pitch. It was to get rid of _me._ "

"That makes no sense, none at all. What was your name then? Before you were Pan, I mean?" Jack asked, looking apprehensive, as if he'd just figured something out in the back of his mind and wanted it confirmed before jumping to conclusions.

"I kept my name," Peter lied, shrugging. "I've always been Peter Pan."

.

" _Where did you get that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. There were a lot of things he permitted, and he had grown to rely and care for Tinkerbell quite a bit over the years, but there was one rule._

 _Never go into his bedroom._

 _And, as he stared at the thick book in her hands, bound in red leather and studded in runes, he knew that she had crossed the line and broken the rule._

" _I had suspicions," said Tinkerbell, and her voice was high yet firm. "I needed to know. It's true, isn't it? Everything they say about you in Pixie Hollow is true? The rumours, all of them? The Lost Boys… you don't rescue them. You take them."_

" _And you needed to snoop through my things to figure that out?" asked Peter, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Without meaning to, he'd reached for his dagger, and he hurriedly let go of the hilt. "Come now, Tinkerbell, don't be an idiot. You always knew who I was."_

" _A monster," she said._

" _Monster?" he raised an eyebrow. "What is the life of one boy against the fate of a kingdom? You can't save everyone in the world, Tinkerbell. You simply save as many as you can."_

" _That isn't true. Look at the notes you're written! It's… gruesome what you do. I can't, Peter. Cutting babies out of their mothers? That's utterly…"_

" _The price must be paid," he said, feeling a shiver run down his spine at the condemnation in her eyes. "If it isn't, the magic won't work, and then it ends worse for all involved. People will always try to weasel their way out of deals. It's in their best interest that I make sure that things go smoothly."_

 _He sighed, sinking into his chair and steepling his fingers. For the first time in forever, he felt his age. Thousands and thousands of years weighed on his shoulders, and every deal he'd ever made flitted through his mind. How could she understand the burden he placed on himself to ensure that, in the end, his father would win against the shadows? How could she accept that, for him, the ends justified the means. When summoned, he arrived, no matter who called, but he always thought ahead as he worked out the deal, trying to ensure that the world did not end once more._

 _Tsar Luna had been sneaky when raising him, too sneaky. Allowing him to retain who he was whilst also binding him to the greater game… it was a crafty move, one that he was quite envious he hadn't made himself, but it was now his role and his nature all the same._

" _You are free to leave if this bothers you," he said. "Your memories of this night will be erased, of course, but no harm will come to you."_

 _Even saying the words hurt him. He didn't want her to go. She was Tinkerbell, and she'd been with him for a decade now. It was difficult to imagine Neverland without her. In fact, it was impossible. He'd grown to care for her over the years in ways he'd never imagine, and it was in the little things she did._

 _She was a breath of fresh air in a world he'd allowed to grow stale, for Neverland was eternal and always stayed the same. And, he didn't want to lose her, not for something he couldn't help._

" _I'm not leaving," she said. "The only change we're going to make, now that I know, is that you talk to me before rushing off to bring home another Lost Boy, you hear me? No arguments. If I stay, we're going to do things by the book."_

 _._

"Hey, Peter!" yelled a voice, sparing him the need to answer any more of Jack's questions. "The kid won't shut up and the other boys are getting rowdy about it. Can you come over and do your thing."

"Well," said Peter, tipping his hat to Jack. "It seems that duty calls. Don't think about what I've said too much, you hear me? I'd rather you focus on yourself and coming to terms instead."

Not waiting for an answer, he flitted into the air and darted towards Hangman's Tree. Nibs was on the beach, staring up at him, an irritated expression on his face. Peter didn't blame him. The newest addition to their little band had a pair of lungs on him that could wake the dead.

When he at last returned to Hangman's Tree, the Boys had all disappeared, leaving a note that they'd be back when the kid stopped squalling. Honestly, he wasn't sure what to do with them all anymore. At first, it had just been one, and then it had been two, and now there were enough of them to fill every bunk in the tree. It was hard to say how long the Boys remained with him. Alice had her fairies, and he had his _brokers_. The world below wasn't as small as it used to be. Like the Godmother, he couldn't be everywhere at once, especially given that his job, like him, had two sides. Like Alice, he still handled the bigger cases on his own, but for the small things, his boys were perfectly capable of meeting with every desperate soul, so long as the desperate souls in question remembered to meet them at the crossroads.

The baby cried in its crib, and Pan rolled his eyes before picking it up. The baby was healthy and a few months old. Black hair and tanned skin, yet, the eyes were as blue as the sea on a summer's day. It would be a tall kid, and Pan would have to find a onesie for it soon. A fennec, perhaps, for the sake of poetry. Who the child had been didn't matter. It was a Lost Boy now, and it would remain a Lost Boy until the end.

"Peace," he murmured, stroking two fingers across the kid's cheek. Instantly, it grew quiet and still, falling into a deep sleep that would last the night. Setting it back down in the crib, Pan stretched before rising into the air. All this talk had reminded him of a place he rarely went to, and with the boys all out, the kid asleep, and Jack moping on the beach, there'd be nobody to disturb him during his visit.

 _._

" _You care for the fairy," said Tsar Luna, pursing his lips and looking at him with disapproval. "That is not wise."_

" _You have a lot of gall coming to me and questioning my choices after all I've done for you, Manny," Pan said, gritting his teeth. To fight Pitch, one couldn't do so with clean hands, but Tsar Luna's were as spotless as ever. It was always clear why. Whenever there was dirty work that needed to be done or a sacrifice to be made, it was always Pan who was forced to arrange it, to make sure that his father's ploys would work and victory would be theirs._

 _A deal here and a deal there, and yet, Tsar Luna still disapproved of his actions. He wanted things done cleanly. Well, if his father had actually dug about in the mud and gotten his hands dirty when the need came, then his mother would still be alive, wouldn't she? That… that was the one thing Pan would never forgive, and they both knew it._

" _I am simply stating what must be said. Their lives are briefer than those of humans, and you will have forever. Is it truly worth it to condemn yourself to an eternity of misery just for the sake of a few years of happiness?"_

" _Go back to the moon, Father," said Pan. "Mother was an immortal as well. Is she here right now, in your eternity of misery?"_

 _Tsar Luna looked as though he'd been slapped, and he left without a word, flickering away upon a moonbeam. Pan sat upon the large rock overlooking the starry sky, and then, he felt a soft hand upon his shoulder. He sighed. She'd hadn't meant to have seen or heard any of that._

" _Why is it that whenever I think I know you, there's always so much more to uncover?" asked Tinkerbell, leaning into him, her wings fluttering._

" _Because I'm Peter Pan," he replied with a shrug, not knowing how else to answer._

" _That's not an answer," she said. "Just because you're who you are doesn't mean you have to keep so many secrets."_

" _The people around me are best served by me biting my tongue," he replied. "I do what needs to be done, and it's best I don't weigh down anyone else's conscious doing so."_

" _And what about your own conscious?"_

" _I'm Peter Pan," he repeated. "I'm used to it by now."_

" _You don't have to be alone," she whispered. "You don't."_

" _I know," he said. "I just preferred it, for a very long time. It's easier to wander my own path without anyone tethering me down. It's just always been simpler to do things on my own."_

" _Preferred? What changed?"_

" _I met you, Tinkerbell."_

 _She was silent, and then her fingers were on his chin, turning his face to hers. His eyes widened as her lips found his, and almost at once, he was grasping at her, pulling her in as she kissed him. It was a desperate frenzy of torn clothes and heated kisses, but when he met her eyes, he knew that this was the one thing he'd always searched for._

 _A brief flicker of happiness that would be enough to justify the eternity of misery that would follow._

 _._

He had buried her in a grotto that nobody dared visit save for him, for it was in the heart of Neverland. Walking across the smooth stones and between the creeping vines, he bit his lip. She had deserved more… he should have laid her to rest in a field of flowers that never died, or somewhere else as beautiful as she'd been. Not here, in this quiet grotto. Pan shook his head. It was the same thought that echoed through his mind no matter how often he visited her grave.

She had deserved better than him.

Then, he stilled, his body growing stiff. His eyes grew wide, and his breathing spiked as he glanced around. The earth was disturbed, and the headstone was cracked. _No. Who dares?_ It was then that he smelled it: the lingering, cloying stench of nightmares. Corrupted dreamsand glimmered amongst the soil, and Pan let out a furious scream as he sank to his knees, digging through the dirt with his bare hands as he desperately searched for a coffin that wasn't there.

 _Pitch!_ How had he gotten in? How had he entered Neverland? It was impossible. None could enter Pan's realm without his permission, but the evidence was here, right before his eyes. Tinkerbell's grave… it was desecrated and befouled, and her remains were gone. Frenzied, Pan rose into the air, and the stars gleamed with white fire in the skies above him as he let out an agonized roar.

This… this was too much. His elfin face twisted with malice, and he took to the skies like a bullet, aiming right for earth. There would be no more games. It was time for this to end. Pitch… _you went to far, you monster. Too far._

* * *

Alice found him an hour later, and she didn't hesitate to blast him with her wand. The stream of blue light caught him in the chest, sending him reeling, and he shuddered as, just for a moment, his fury subsided and he was able to think. He glanced around. _The ruins of the Imperium._ He'd done a number on the place, ripping it to shreds in his hunt for Pitch, and it was no surprise that Alice had come to try and calm him down.

No. He couldn't. Peter needed to be angry. After all Tinkerbell had done for him… he couldn't let her profaned grave stand.

.

" _Tink, really?" he said, looking at Hangman's Tree. "I think it has a certain charm to it, just the way it is."_

" _There is literally one room inside that place other than yours, and everything is in it. The paint is peeling, there is a root growing through the kitchen, and we have twenty lads running around all the time. It needs a bit of a fix-up."_

 _He frowned, still not pleased with this, but he moved to help her all the same. She was a force of nature when roused, sawing planks and, when she thought he wasn't looking, using a touch of fairy magic to make the job easier. He helped… or tried to, at least. Floating around, he carried nails and tubs of paint. He tied hammocks, only for her to rip them down and fashion beds from the roots. He removed the root from the kitchen, and she polished the silverware, and they worked like only two beings with magic could._

 _When done, Hangman's Tree was a bit more than just a hideout for him and the boys. It was a home._

" _One last thing," she said, beating her wings as she rose up into the air to hover beside his bedroom door. The word Pan was scrawled there in his messy script, and she raised a paintbrush._

 _He chuckled as he read the adjustment she'd made._

" _Pan & Tink. What are we? A bed and breakfast?"_

 _She responded by tipping the rest of the paint over his head._

.

"What are you doing?" yelled Alice, keeping her wand trained on him. "For Tsar Luna's sake, Pan, this is madness. We have our orders not to engage him alone!"

"He befouled her grave!" roared Peter, and his visage flickered. His skin was greying in his anger, and he clenched his fists as his eyes turned yellow. _Control. Don't let it show. Keep up the illusion._ "Pitch stole her body."

"Peter, you're not making any sense."

"Tink," he snapped. "He has Tink's bones!"

His eyes blazed as his back hunched and his nails grew long and barbed, and he growled in frustration. When he looked up, Alice was staring at him in disbelief, shaking her head, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. Well, too bad. This wasn't about her. It was about Tinkerbell, and Peter would see the entire world burn before letting Pitch work his dark magic over what was left of her.

"You're…"

"Dammit, Dearie, get the fuck over it and either help me or go back to your manor."

He glared, and she shook her head, approaching him with one hand held out in front of her. Alice grasped him, hugging him close, and he sucked in a series of sharp, halting breaths, the weight of everything finally coming crashing down on him as the rage subsided. He wanted to shove her away, and he wanted to find Pitch, to hurt the miserable wretch for what he'd done… but Tink hated it when he lost control like this.

"She knew, didn't she?" asked Alice, her voice gentle, using the tone she used when speaking to young children in need of a wish.

"She did," he managed. "She was the only who knew, save for Manny."

"Calm down, Peter. Calm down. We'll find Pitch, and we'll deal with him. She's gone. It's just bones. It's disrespectful and hideous, but they're just bones. She's gone and there's nothing he can do to her now."

 _She's gone._ Pan took a deep breath, and then he felt the slight tug in his navel.

Peter stilled, taking a weary breath. Someone was calling him. The first murmur of his name was always the worst, and it overcame him in seconds. Turning, he rose into the sky, ignoring Alice as he soared up into the clouds. She had moved to follow, but he shook his head. Mercifully, Alice took the message and departed with a quick nod.

The second whisper of his name urged him on, and he picked up speed. Already, he could make out the faint vestiges of the situation. A young woman, afraid and alone, and in need of help. She was pregnant. Her husband hadn't come home yet. It was snowing, and it was clear what had happened. The man was trapped… somewhere.

Finally, as he reached the quiet cottage in the frozen wastes of Arendelle, he heard the final whisper of his name, both in his mind and in his ears, and he felt himself begin to change as he slipped in through the open window.

"Rumpelstiltskin."


	41. Heart of Darkness

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Five**

 **Heart of Darkness**

* * *

"They said he's stopped feeding you," said Caspian, hesitating before closing the door behind him. "I… I filched this from the kitchens. It's not much, but…"

Lucile looked up, her hunger evident in her expression, and she dashed across the room. Seizing the hunk of dry bread and wedge of cheese from Caspian's hand, she gnawed on it like an animal, swallowing it down so fast he was afraid she might choke. Cautiously, he took a seat beside her on the ground, keeping her a safe distance away from him, and he waited for her to finish.

It was time. This weekend, Damon would be leaving Hamelin, and it would be Lucile's opportunity to escape, Caspian knew. He'd prepare one of the horses in the stables and give her as many supplies as he could steal without drawing attention to himself, and then he'd pray to Tsar Luna to preserve her on her flight from this hellish chateau. The Eléadoréan advance into Corona had been repelled, and the Kingdom of the Sun was the safest place for her now.

"You shouldn't have," she said, finally looking up at him once the food was gone. "He'll punish you for this."

"He'll never know," lied Caspian, forcing as much reassurance into his voice as he could. "He doesn't go down to the kitchens. Don't worry. You need to keep up your strength."

"If you're sure," she said, her voice hesitant. "Caspian, thank you. I haven't eaten in three days."

 _Consider yourself lucky it's only been three days,_ he thought, shuddering. His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. Crossing his legs under him and wincing in pain as he did so, he leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath, shivering in the cool night air. As usual, he wasn't permitted much in the way of clothes, and the thin cut-offs barely covered his thighs. The collar chafed as it always did, and his scales were beginning to peel. _I've been away from the sea too long._

"Just hold on a little longer," said Caspian, goosebumps spreading over his skin from the cold. "Just until this weekend. I'll get you out of here then."

"Come with me," she said without hesitation, as she always did when he brought up her escape. Rising to her feet, she padded across the room and returned with the sheet from her bed. Making to wrap it around him, he shuddered as her hands drew near, and she pulled away, leaving the sheet on the ground instead. Gratefully, he pulled it around himself.

"Thank you," he said. "And, I… I can't. His magic's too strong. If I run, he'll just call me back, and even if I can't hear him, I'll be forced to return. It's… this is it for me, Lucile. If Tsar Luna is good, he'll get so angry when he finds out you're gone that he'll finally kill me."

She sucked in a breath, but he simply shook his head. At first, it had surprised him how casually he could speak about his own death, about how he could point out exactly why this was his end. Then, he'd realized how numb he'd grown since being kidnapped from the beach outside his castle. He… he wasn't the same, because Damon had won. Everything inside him had been broken and battered until it wasn't worth saving, and all he felt was hollow and empty.

Caspian couldn't contemplate saving himself, because there simply wasn't anything left to save.

"You're strong, Caspian," she urged, looking at him. "You fought his control before, didn't you? You stabbed yourself rather than follow through on his orders. You can fight it. You can't give up."

"I fought because I couldn't sink that low," he whispered, his eyes beginning to sting with tears. "I fought because I couldn't subject you to _that,_ to what he's subjected me to every day since I've been here. I can't save myself. I can't. I can save you."

"Why me? What makes me so special?"

Her voice was raw, and oddly anguished, which didn't seem quite right. She should be happy to be rescued, shouldn't she? Why did it sound like she actually cared for him when it had been he who'd dragged her into this mess? Caspian gritted his teeth. If only he'd fought harder against Damon's mind control… if only he'd stabbed himself sooner, or done something, anything, to prevent what had happened that day in the forest. He should have screamed for help that day on the beach… He should have done so much more.

"It's not _you_ ," said Caspian, slowly climbing to his feet and letting the sheet fall to the ground. In the dim candlelight, the marks across his body were thrown into stark relief, and he winced as he moved. Everything hurt.

Still, he'd already tarried too long, and if he didn't hurry, someone might tell Damon that he'd been visiting Lucile, and the mere thought of the inevitable punishment that would follow sent shivers running down his spine.

"It's not you," he repeated, trembling as he turned the knob on the door and left the room. _I'd do it for anyone. Nobody deserves Damon's cruelty._ His stomach growled again as he returned to his room, moving as quickly as he could and keeping to the shadows. At last, he arrived, closing the door behind him, and he sank to the floor, too tired to make his way to the bed.

His plate lay on his desk, empty save for a few crumbs of dried bread and hard cheese, and he sighed as he curled up on the rug, hugging himself to try and keep somewhat warm in the draughty room. He was cold, hungry, and his body ached. _Just a few more days. Just a few more days._ Once Lucile was gone, he could die. That counted as saving himself, didn't it? _He doesn't kill you. He does things to you that make you wish you were dead instead._

And Caspian was tired of just wishing.

* * *

Damon walked into the room, his temples throbbing in frustration. The Eléadoréan bitch was beginning to get on his nerves, and her immunity to his powers were quickly making him lose patience. If she didn't give in soon, he'd have no choice but to do things the old-fashioned way, and that would not be good for the plan. King Philip wanted her alive and fertile, which was something Damon couldn't promise she'd be if he really got started. It would be nice, though. A smile spread across his face. She was such a demure little thing, all garbed in white with that blonde hair and those mismatched green-and-blue eyes.

There were toxins in his mummy's closet that would burn her from the inside out, and there were things he could do with his knife that would shatter that impassively serene mask of Lucile's. She'd bleed and scream and writhe, and he'd enjoy it. Just the thought of what he could do sent a thrill of delight down his spine. Maybe he'd take her to bed… she liked to pray, he was told. A night with him would have her pleading to her god for mercy.

"No, no," he told himself. "Don't get carried away. Follow the plan."

Selling her to King Philip was of the utmost importance, but he needed to break into her mind first. If she was his puppet, it would make claiming Somnia that much easier. Contrary to popular belief, he was not an idiot, and if he was to get his revenge on King Nicholas and the dragon whelp, then he'd need an army behind him. Sadly, Hamelin was rather understaffed at present, an unfortunate byproduct of the antics his sister and he had indulged in over the years, and his other pet was a bit of a dissapointment. Perhaps Renata would be helpful in that regard. He'd been forced to send her back to her mother, much to his displeasure, but his hold on her mind was still as strong as steel. One way or another, she'd see to it that he had Renvale as well.

Aquitania would be his… but there was no army there for him to claim. Still, perhaps it would be enough to get something done. His mind made up, Damon turned around and headed for the room at the very end of the hall instead of his own, and he felt the thrill of delight return as he opened the door. This toy… oh, he could play with this toy to his heart's content. He just had to restrain himself to make sure Prince Caspian didn't die, which would be rather unfortunate for his plans.

"Hello," he said, beaming as he padded across the room.

The prince didn't seem to notice him. In fact, to Damon's annoyance, Caspian was asleep, curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed and clutching his sheets as if they'd protect him. Even in his sleep, the prince was a disappointment, whimpering and trembling like a leaf. Honestly, after all he'd heard about the prince's insolent reputation, Damon had expected so much more than this breakable idiot. Yet, Caspian had disappointed in him at every turn, shattering at just the slightest bit of fun, and it had been amusing at first… now, though, it was getting boring, and Damon was quite pleased that it would just be a few more days at most before the prince's mind was utterly and completely in his thrall.

"Wakey wakey," he said, prodding the prince with the hilt of his knife.

Caspian woke with a jolt, eyes growing wide as he scrambled across the bed, clutching his sheets around him as though to shield himself. _Pathetic._ With dark rings around his bloodshot eyes, dozens of scars crossing his olive skin, and the red dye in his hair all but faded, Caspian just didn't capture his attention anymore. He had been rather close to perfection when Damon had first found him, but now… it just wasn't worth it. Well, if the physical games were lacking, there was always the mental game to play.

"Is that how you greet your master?" asked Damon, perching on the edge of the bed and yanking Caspian towards him by the hair, rolling his eyes as the slight discolouration of the prince's scales. They had been such a rich shade of blue but, after several weeks in Hamelin, they were going green and flaky, and honestly, it was a good thing that Damon hadn't scaled him for the jacket he'd had in mind. It would look hideous in that shade.

"I'm sorry, Master Damon," said Caspian, sounding far too desperate to placate him. "You startled me is all."

"Oh, is that all?" asked Damon, letting a grin play about his features. "You can't be sleeping well, can you? It must be difficult. Mummy died thinking you ran away. It's so tragic, isn't it? You always were a disappointing son, isn't that what you said when I forced the truth from you? And now you can't ever make up for it."

Caspian flinched, and Damon dug his fingers into the prince's skin, enjoying the agony in those blue eyes. It was marvellous, and if anything, it made him feel alive again, truly alive, in a way he hadn't been since Dominique had been sliced in half.

"It's okay," he continued, his grin growing. "It's okay. You don't need to be upset. It's almost over. I'm going to be sending you home soon. Would you like that?" He layered his voice with his allure, letting the magic in his words weave their way through Caspian's mind, deepening his hold.

"Yes," whispered Caspian, and there was disbelief in his expression… disbelief and fear, almost like a starving child being offered food and expecting it to be yanked away at the last moment. There was hope there as well, and that was the best thing of all.

There was nothing like giving his toys a brief glimpse of hope before ripping it away.

"Do you want to go home to Aquitania? I don't need you in Hamelin any more, you know," said Damon. "You can go home and be a prince again. It'll all be okay, won't it?"

"Do you… do you really mean it?" asked Caspian, biting his lip. "This isn't another game."

"Oh, it's a game," said Damon with relish. "You're going home to be my puppet. Your daddy's very depressed, I'm told, and it'll be so sweet when you cut his throat and put him out of his misery. You'll do it, won't you? Because I want you to. You're going to be my puppet king, and I'm going to have your kingdom as my personal playground."

Casually, he slapped Caspian whilst running the blade of his knife up the prince's chest, teasing the edge across each jutting-out rib. _Go on, scream, plead, pull away._ He wanted a reaction. He'd slip the knife in just deep enough to part the skin, and he'd carve slender rivulets between the prince's ribs, almost like gills beneath his nipples. Perhaps, if he wanted, he'd fetch a length of the fine golden chain his mummy had ordered before his death, and he'd thread it through the slits, weaving a tapestry that would remain there forever more.

 _Come on. React._

Caspian simply looked at him, eyes hollow and empty, and Damon's grin faded. Oh, did he want to play that game then? Well, they could.

"You'll kill your sister too, you know. I'll make sure of it. She'll come rushing home for the funeral, and you can gut her in her bed. Maybe not. Maybe you could just slip something in her water so we can take turns playing with her before cutting her throat. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you?" Damon asked through gritted teeth, annoyance and irritation spilling forth as he slid the knife in, feeling a thrill of pleasure at Caspian's pained gasp.

"Yes," said Caspian, nodding, but Damon didn't like the hollow note in his voice, or the emptiness.

He wanted the prince to scream and beg like he'd done when he'd first come to Hamelin, and he wanted to see him writhe and twist and plead. What was wrong with him? He couldn't be broken, not yet. Glaring, Damon shoved the prince onto the ground, kicking him in the gut with as much force as he could muster before dropping to a crouch and fisting Caspian's hair.

"You think you're funny, do you? Well, how's this for funny. I'm leaving for a meeting with Lady Tremaine this weekend, you hear me, and you're going to be watching Lucile for me? Pretty girl, isn't she? I can't get a rise out of you, it seems, so maybe she will. Remember what I asked? You're going to do it this weekend. Often and without mercy, because that is what I order, and you're not going to stop until she's bleeding and begging to die rather than go one more round."

Damon grinned, pressing his knee into the back of Caspian's throat and pinning the prince to the floor. _Yes, that's done the trick._ Caspian was shaking, violently twitching, and there were tears in his eyes. Good, very good. His expression was one of utmost horror and disgust, and the way he looked at Damon's knife was almost desperate. Just like that, Damon remembered the incident with the fork, and he shook his head.

"And, I forbid you from hurting yourself," added Damon with a smirk, internally praising his own cleverness. "And, one more thing, in case you try to fight my orders again… If I get back and her maidenhead is still intact, then I'll let my hounds take it from her instead, you hear me?"

* * *

There were a trio of mice in her room, Lucile knew, that hid beneath the dresser and crept out after she was asleep in search of food. When she'd first been brought to Hamelin and thrown into this room, she'd left out bits of her meals for the mice, but as the days had turned to weeks and food had grown scarcer, she hadn't been able to. It hurt her to listen to the mice scurry about the room each night, seeking a meal that would never come.

Yet, she had to think with her head and not her heart, because her kind disposition would not be enough to save both Caspian and herself. No matter what he said, she couldn't leave him here, not after all he'd done for her. Damon was a monster in human skin, and leaving Caspian behind with him was not an option. He'd endured pain that had been meant for her, weathered their captor's fury, and he didn't need to do any of it. Who was she to him? They'd met thrice in both their lifetimes, and they knew each other only in passing.

His reputation may not be a good one, and he may have earned his moniker, but Caspian had a good heart. She _would not_ leave him. Not like she had left Jaq. Lucile clenched her fists at the thoughts of her brother, and she fought to push them from her mind. Not now, not until she was free of her current plight. She could do nothing for Jaq as long as she was in Hamelin, and worrying would be fruitless. Her brother was alive. He was strong, much stronger than she was, and King Philip needed him to stay alive. He would be able to endure until she could find a way to rescue him. She knew him and, in her heart of hearts, she knew he'd be okay.

In Hamelin, all that mattered was Caspian and herself.

The mice were scurrying about beneath the dresser, and she crouched upon the carpet, keeping still. A few seconds later, the clock struck one, and they darted out, sniffing at the carpet with their pink noses as they searched for food that wasn't there.

"Hello," she said, keeping her voice soft and companionable. "It's lovely to finally meet you three. We've been sharing a room for weeks now."

The mice paused, sniffing the air in confusion and looking in every direction. Lucile frowned before sucking in a breath as she caught sight of their eyes. Each of the mice had matching gemstones set into hollow eye sockets, with fine scars running along their eyelids. _That monster._

"It's okay," she said, "I'm right here. You don't need to be afraid."

"Sorry, Miss," said the largest of the mice, padding over in the direction of her voice. It walked into her knee and hurriedly rubbed at its nose before looking up in the opposite direction through two green emeralds. "We're blind."

They didn't have tails either, she realized in horror. Did nothing in Hamelin escape Damon's torment?

"He did this to you, didn't he?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "I'm sorry I don't have any food for you. He's stopped feeding me because I won't listen to him."

"We're used to not having easy food, Miss," said the second mouse. "The kitchen's harder to sneak into, though, so the bedroom are easier. We don't want him catching us like the rest."

"The rest?" she asked. "How many of you are there?"

"There used to be hundreds," said the third mouse, sounding somewhat pained. "His father forced most of them to drown themselves years ago, and he's been hunting the rest of us down ever since he was born. When he finds us, well, he does this." The mouse gestured at his jewelled eyes and missing tail. "We three got lucky and escaped his cage. There's just a few dozen of us left in the walls."

"Do you want to get even?" she asked, and she didn't need to feign anger or sympathy, for both welled up within her. There were many things she hated in the world, but those who were needlessly cruel to animals were very near the top of her list. Perhaps it was simply because she could understand them and speak their language.

As if she had even needed another reason to hate Damon De Vil.

"What can we do?" asked the fat mouse. It's nose twitched. "We're just mice, and we're blind. He'll have our hides and put us back in the cage."

"And if you do nothing, he'll find you anyway, eventually." Her smile was sad as she reached out to run a finger across the mouse's patchy coat. "Together, we can stop him. I just need a little bit of help."

The mice scurried away from her, bundling together on the other end of the carpet, and she could hear them whispering even if she couldn't make out the words. If they couldn't, then there was very little she could do short of trying to fight Damon with her bare hands, and she'd never trained as a combatant. She knew what she was asking of the mice, and she knew the risks they'd be taking if they agreed to stand with her…

"Leave if you can,," said the lead mouse, turning back to her and nodding. "There is nothing we can do to help."

Lucile took a deep breath, disappointment running through her veins. _Yes._ It was as though a slender ray of sunlight had pierced the eternal gloom of Hamelin only to fade at the very last second. At the realisation, something snapped with her. For a very long time, all she'd done was run away and let someone else take the fall that had been meant for her, but no more. _He's sacrificed almost everything for me._ She refused to leave him, not after seeing the fresh scars and bruises appear on his body whenever he intervened to shield her from Damon.

 _Until my last breath, I'll fight. I will._

"Then don't help me," she said, her voice curt. "I'll do it all on my own if I have to."

* * *

Caspian paused at her bedroom door, a knife clasped in his hand and a rope bound around his ankle. It was a short rope, and the other end was tied to the nearest pillar, and he simply had to trust that he'd bound the knot tight enough to keep him from getting too close to Lucile. Damon's orders clung to his mind, and the mere act of stopping at the doorway was enough to drive him mad. _No, fight. Just fight a little more._ Biting his lip, he hammered on her door, his throat going dry as the orders that bound him drove him to simply charge in and do what he'd been told to.

"Lucile, don't open the door," he said, "Just listen."

On the other side of the door, he heard the sound of footsteps, and his pulse quickened. His blood burned, begging him to just do it, and his arms were moving on their own accord, reaching for the doorknob. Desperately, he tried to still them, but Damon's curse was all but driving him insane, and fighting was almost futile.

"Caspian?" she said, and she sounded as though she was right up against the door. "What's wrong."

"Don't open," he pleaded. He jerked forward, her voice sending him over the edge, and the rope grew taut around him ankle. Stumbling to his knees, he drew a deep ragged breath. _No. I'm many things. I'm not that. I'm not going to do that._ "Just listen to me, please. Please."

"I'm listening."

"There's a brown horse in the stables. I've saddled him and filled his saddlebags with food, a change of clothes, and a map. I've marked the easiest path to Corona. Follow it. You understand. Damon…" He bit his lip, drawing blood, and pressure began to build in his mind. It was as if his brain was being forced into a vice, and his hands were moving again. Not for the first time, he tried to cut himself, to use the pain to get a grip.

He failed. No matter how hard he tried or moved, the order was clear. He couldn't hurt himself.

The door swung open, and his heart sank. _I told you to keep it closed!_ Like an animal, he pounced at her, and he was screaming inside his head, begging his body to stop moving. She screamed in alarm, yanking herself away from him and falling to the floor, her skirts tangling around her legs. The rope pulled taut and he crashed to the ground. A jolt of pain ran through his body, but he barely felt it. He was on his hands and knees, scrabbling towards her and tugging at the rope, and to his horror, his body was _reacting_ to Damon's order _._

 _No. I can't. I don't want to. I'm Caspian. I'm Caspian. I'm not a rabid dog in heat._

"Lucile, take the knife," he said, shoving it across the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please, Damon's orders… He's… I can't fight it. You know what he's asked me to do. You know. I can't. I can't. Please. Please just kill me. Please."

He thrashed, bucking and yanking against the rope, and in the back of his mind, he was grateful that the orders had he'd been able to get the knife to her before his delirious body had decided to hack at the rope instead. _Please, kill me. Quickly._ He didn't want to do what Damon said. And, there was more. So much more. If he lived, his kingdom would fall into Damon's hands. Everything. His father would die. His sister would die. His people would be forced to be Damon's playthings.

"You can't expect me to kill you," she said, her voice almost hysterical and she picked up the knife and held it in a trembling grasp. "Caspian, fight it."

"I can't." Caspian sobbed, wrenching against the rope so hard he felt his ankle all but jolt out of its socket. The rope dragged over his flaking scales, drawing blood, and he slammed the ground with his fists, his skin growing slick with sweat. _I can't._ "Please, just save me. Please. I don't want to hurt anyone else. Please. Please. Please."

Lucile took a deep breath as she made her way towards him, the knife glimmering in the flickering candlelight. Tears stained her cheeks, and Caspian shuddered, scratching furrows in the carpet as his body fought to follow Damon's orders. Clenching his eyes shut as she knelt in front of him, just out of reach, he waited for her to do it. _Make it quick. Please. Hurry._

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he didn't know who he was apologising to. Was it to Lucile, for dragging her into this mess? Or Ali, for the things he'd said that night in the bar? To his mother, for never being the man she'd raised him to be? To his father, for not being there at the darkest hour? To Aquaria, for all he'd done over the years?

He didn't know. The list went on and on and on. _I deserve this end. Too many sins, and this is how I'll pay the piper._ _I'm not afraid to die, not anymore. Just make it quick._ He waited, eyes closed, body straining against the rope, mind delirious with Damon's forced lust, and he could hear her breathing, hear her sobbing. _Please, make it quick and run._

The knife never came. Instead, Lucile kissed him, and he gasped. The second her lips touched his, a jolt ran through his body, and it was as though ice water had just been flung in his face. He shuddered, his body finally going still, and for the first time in months, his mind was clear. Opening his eyes, he slumped to the ground, fresh sobs spilling forth from his lips. _How?_ It didn't make sense. He'd been ready to die. He'd wanted to die. To make it end. To spare everyone Damon's plans for him. But, he couldn't feel the curse, not anymore.

The knife clattered to the floor, and Lucile took a deep breath. His attention snapped to her, and he took in her flushed cheeks and teary eyes, biting his lip. He hurt, everything hurt, but for the first time, he was seeing her through his own eyes and his mind was completely his own. Nothing made sense, but… it was starting too.

"You… you… I… I don't…" he stammered.

"I didn't know if it would work," she said softly. "But true love's kiss breaks any curse."

She reached out a hand, and he jerked away, shaking his head. _Don't touch me!_ The reaction brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. He was free. He was saved. Yet, the mere thought of someone touching him made his skin crawl. _He's won. I can't… I'm free, but I'll never be free…_

"It's okay, it's okay," she said, holding her hands up in front of her and shaking her head. "Caspian, I'm not going to hurt you. It's me. But I need to untie that rope from your leg. It's going to cut off your circulation. Please, will you let me untie you?"

He nodded, eyes wide, still not understanding, and he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Extending his leg out in front of him, he closed his eyes and let her work at the knots. Her fingers ghosted across his scales, and his breath hitched. _Stop. Don't touch me. Get away._ Yet, another voice whispered, weak and small, yet there all the same. _She's helping you. Just keep still._

"You broke his hold on me," he said, trying to keep his mind of the sensation of someone touching him. "You said… You said…" _You love me? Why? I don't understand._

"How could I not fall for the man who would rather die than hurt me? The man who shielded me from harm at such a grievous cost to himself?" she said, taking a deep breath. "I didn't realize, not until you begged me to kill you… and I just couldn't. I'm sorry for the kiss. I am. I know you hate being touched. I never wanted to force it on you. I just didn't know what else to try. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," he mumbled, taking in her words. "Thank you. I'm me again. Thank you."

* * *

"Please stop," Caspian whispered, his arms trembling. "I can't…"

Lucile pulled away at once, leaving the bandage unbound and biting her lip. The wound on Caspian's thigh was grisly, and it was so much worse than she'd expected. He'd stabbed himself once… yet, from what she could see, it was as if the fork had gone in and out until the flesh had been turned into a red ruin, and it was even clearer that Damon hadn't tended it in the slightest. The only mercy was that it hadn't become infected, but the real miracle was that, despite the wound, Caspian could still walk. Lucile may have been fairly sheltered in her upbringing, but even she knew that most men didn't simply shrug off wounds like that.

More often than not, they lost the entire leg to the healer's saw.

"Take a deep breath. Calm down. Tell me when you're ready for me to carry on," she said.

He was doing better, at the very least. Huddled in the corner of the room, he had his arms crossed, hugging himself so tightly that she was afraid he'd hurt himself. Yet, he was allowing her to touch him and tend his wounds, even if she had to stop every five minutes when it all became too much for him to bear. _Damn Damon, and damn whatever he's done to him._ She doubted she'd ever know the full extent of what had been done to Caspian, but if even half of what she suspected was true, then it more than anyone should ever have to endure.

"How did you know?" he asked, breaking the silence and shaking her from her reverie. "I… You… You kissed me. How did you know it would work?"

"I didn't," she said, settling down beside him. "I just knew I couldn't hurt you."

"Why?"

 _Why?_ It was hard for her to put into words, but the feelings had developed over the length of her imprisonment. She had grown to see Caspian for who he really was, to see the bravery and character beneath the Rogue of the Sea, and it hadn't dawned on her all at once, but in pieces. Lucile had slept easier knowing he was there during the darkest days when Damon had tried to break her, and she'd seen the horrors he'd endured on her behalf. Because, he hadn't needed to.

If someone had told her, years ago, that she'd find her true love in Prince Caspian, she'd have thought them mad or drunk. Yet, here they were.

Why me, she had asked, and he had replied to say that he would have done it for anyone. That had been the turning point for her. He didn't have an ulterior motive in helping her. He was good. He was kind. He was rough the edges, but his heart was in the right place. Yet, she didn't understand it, any of it. This was her first experience in love, and the circumstances were not good, to put things mildly. Caspian… he was damaged, inside and out, and she was scarred as well, though mercifully not as badly as she was.

 _If you fall to pieces, I'll hold you together._ The thought surprised her, but it was true. She had grown to care for him, and it didn't matter to her if he'd never reciprocate her feelings, because that was honestly the last thing that mattered to her right now. What mattered was escaping Hamelin and then helping him recover from his ordeal.

"I care for you," she said, finally settling on the simplest answer. "You begged me to let you die a hero. You didn't need to die to be one. You already were one… to me."

He looked at her like he wanted to argue, and he sighed. Taking a deep breath, he extended his leg, granting her permission to return to work. Deftly, she grasped the bandages, pausing only to make sure the salve and healing herbs were still in place before binding the wound closed. Caspian hissed, biting his lip and trembling, and she worked as quickly as she could, understanding how difficult this was for him.

Still, it needed to be done. They needed to leave Hamelin as quickly as possible. The servants wouldn't discover them, because Caspian assured her that the lot of them were hiding in their quarters, grateful for their respite from Damon's madness. If anything, she'd wanted to leave as soon as she's broken the curse, her earlier plan with the mice be damned, but one look at Caspian had changed her mind. Without Damon's compulsion driving him forward, his body had finally collapsed under the weight of his injuries, and to be honest, she feared that the journey would kill him.

She remembered what he'd looked like when last he'd visited Aquitania with his father, all lean muscle and olive skin with dark hair that fell to his shoulders, coupled with an insolent gaze and a penchant for doing as he pleased. The weeks in Hamelin had stripped the flesh from his bones, and she could count his ribs through his skin. His scales were pallid and peeling, and he was covered in scars and bruises. The dye in his hair had faded and grown out, showing his red roots, and it was a messy tangle on his head.

Worse, his eyes were listless and empty, and he stammered more often than he spoke clearly. He was still dressed in his cut-offs, not that she blamed him. His own clothes were gone, and wearing anything owned by Damon was simply not an option. She'd have to fashion him something from the sheets or so later, or he'd die of the cold.

It had been a simple enough matter to find a medical kit once Caspian had told her where to look, but the place still unnerved her, even without its master. The quicker Caspian recovered, the better, but at least she still had her plan with the mice. That would be her last resort. Hopefully, it wouldn't come down to that. The last thing she wanted was to force a confrontation with Damon.

"Lucile?"

"Yes, Caspian?" she asked, finally done with the bandage. Reaching for a bottle of cleansing alcohol, she dipped in a cloth and set to work on his arm, cleaning the worst of the cuts as best she could.

"You saved me… You lo… love me. I'm sorry… I… I can't return that love yet. I'm sorry," he stammered, and there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made her heart ache.

"You don't need to be sorry," she said. "I understand. You don't need to kiss me or hold me, okay? You just need to focus on healing, all right?"

"I… Do you… the thing he tried to make me do to you?" He looked at her, and she swallowed. "He… Damon… I…"

"Caspian, you don't—"

"I want to tell you." The firmness of his voice took her by surprise, and she nodded. "I want… I want someone to know… I… care about you as well. I want you to know… to know why I can't love you… like you deserve to be."

"If you need to talk, then I'll listen," she said, and he did something that only deepened her surprise. He linked his fingers with hers, bringing her hand up to rest upon his chest, and she frowned. His heart thudded beneath his skin, loud and frantic, and his gaze was almost feverish in its intensity.

"Hear that?" he asked. "That's what happens when… when someone touches me. I panic. Heart feels like… like it's going to jump out of my chest. He… he put that fear in me. Every night and every morning since I've been here, and sometimes during the day as well." Idly, she realized he wasn't tripping over his words any longer.

"He whipped me. He beat me. He yanked out my fingernails with a pair of pliers and forced a potion down my throat to regrow them. There's a room in the basement with a dozen fireplaces. He'd light them and leave me there overnight. That much heat… it isn't good for merfolk."

Lucile's breath hitched, and the words died on her tongue. Her stomach twisted, and she felt bile rising in her throat. _Oh, Caspian._ It would only get worse, she knew, and no matter how hard she tried to come up with something, she didn't know what to say.

Taking a deep breath, she simply remained silent and let him speak, hyper aware of the thudding of his heart beneath their linked hands.

* * *

"When I stabbed myself… he forced me to stab myself in the same spot after, over and over until I passed out. He wanted me to keep count. I lost count around number twenty," said Caspian, meeting her gaze. There was horror in her eyes but beneath that, there was compassion. _I don't deserve that. She's in this place because of me…_

"And… he raped me, as often as he wanted, whenever he wanted, and I couldn't fight. I couldn't scream. I was powerless." Tears welled in his eyes, and he looked away, his breaths coming in ragged pants. "He made me look him in the eye and beg for more. He… he…"

He fell silent, hanging his head, and the tears ran down his cheeks. There was so much more, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. His throat felt like it had been caught in a vice, and he was shaking. Then, her arms wrapped around him, and for a split second, he wanted to pull away. _No. It's Lucile. It's Lucile. It's her. She's not going to hurt me._ Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he buried his face into her shoulder, weeping like a child. His fingers dug into her hand so hard that, had his nails not been cut to the quick, he'd have drawn blood from her.

The mere idea of someone touching him repulsed him, but… it was different with her. Something had changed. No… Everything had changed. Everything.

"Nobody is ever going to hurt you again," she said, "I promise."

"You can't…" he whispered. "He's going to come back. I'm slowing you down. You should have run already. Let's go. I can keep up. I can. We need to go. He'll hurt us worse. Please. Please."

"If we leave now, you'll die," said Lucile, not unkindly. "It's a miracle you're not dead already. Don't worry, Caspian. It's going to be okay. I have a plan. Please, just trust in me."

"We need to go. We need to go. We need to go now," he chanted, rocking back and forth in her arms. The panic was building, because the thought had wedged into his mind. He was free, but for how long? If they didn't leave now, Damon would return, and then he'd hurt them. Caspian didn't want to lose himself again. Not now that he was free, not now that his mind was finally his own once more. They needed to leave. Just because the curse was broken, it didn't mean he was immune to Damon's compulsion.

"Please, please, please," he pleaded. "We need to go."

"Caspian, look at me," she said, pulling his head away from her shoulder and forcing him to look into her eyes. "Calm down. It's going to be okay. Listen to me. We'll leave tonight, okay. Just let me finish binding your wounds, and we'll get you some clothes, and then we'll go, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered, nodding in agreement. "Okay."

Something chittered from under the dresser, and he jerked away, almost losing his balance. A small white blur came scurrying towards Lucile, and it took Caspian a second to realize it was a mouse. Frowning in confusion, he watched as she picked up the animal in her hand. It squeaked away at her, and she replied in kind. His eyes widened. He'd heard… he'd known she could speak to animals, but hearing her squeak like a mouse as though it was the most normal thing in the world was a surprise.

In that moment, Caspian did the only thing he could. He laughed. It was ridiculous. He was terrified and in a world of pain, yet, there was something so amusing to him about seeing her squeaking to the mouse with such a serious expression on her face. Almost as soon as the laughter left his lips, however, it died away, and the brief flicker of amusement faded to be replaced by his fear and hurt.

Still… he couldn't let it go. It had been there, if only for a second. It proved something, something he had believed impossible. It showed him that there was still some of him left beneath all the pieces Damon had hacked away. Maybe… just maybe, Lucile was right, and he'd be okay.

 _They'd_ be okay.

"The mice say we should leave if we can," she said, pursing her lips. "I don't want to leave them, and you're really not well enough to travel anywhere, but…"

"We go," he said, nodding fervently. "We have to, Lucile. I can't… if he comes back, I can't fight him. Even… even if I could, I need the sea. My powers… I'm too weak."

Lucile nodded, and as she set the mouse down, she returned to work on his wounds. He hissed and twitched as she cleaned out his cuts and scrapes before applying the bandages, and he was pretty sure that he looked like a mummy by the time she was done. The moon had risen, he noticed, as she helped him to his feet. They were running out of time. Leaning on her for support, he hobbled alongside her, and he sucked in a breath as she led him to Damon's bedroom.

"No." He shook his head. "Not his stuff. I'd rather… I'd rather freeze."

"Caspian, I know it's hard, but we don't have time. You said it yourself. Wait here."

Setting him down beside the doorway, she entered the room. He shivered. _They're just clothes. They're just clothes._ He took a deep breath. He needed to be strong. He couldn't break now. She wouldn't leave him, and he didn't want to stay here, not now that he had his mind back and Damon couldn't use him to seize Aquitania. _I need to be strong. I am the son of the sea. Mother. Father. Aquaria. They're all strong. I need to be like them, just this once._

Lucile returned, looking ready to vomit. He opened his mouth to ask why, but quickly closed it as she shook her head. Whatever was in that bedroom, he didn't want to know. He'd seen enough. She handed him a pair of slacks, which he could already tell were too long for him, and a shirt and jacket. His fingers were stiff as he tried to dress, and to his embarrassment, she had to help him get the pants on over his copious bandages, and she had to button his shirt. _I can't even dress myself anymore… He's won, hasn't he? He broke me._ No! He took a deep breath. He had to be strong.

Once she'd pulled a pair of socks over his feet and helped him into his shoes, he climbed to his feet again, this time doing his best not to put too much of his weight on her slight frame. She'd already done enough for him. _She loves me._ He shivered as they walked. _I still don't understand._ He cared for her. He did. But, was it love? Could it be love, after all that he'd endured? Or had he just latched onto her as the only person in his hell who could offer him some semblance of comfort? Was he… was she confusing gratitude towards him for shielding her with love?

Yet, she'd broken the curse… and true love's kiss was fickle yet, it couldn't be deceived by other emotions. It had to be real. That was what Tsar Luna had said to the world during the Age of Dawn. There was no other way to look at it.

It was raw. It was messy. It was quite possibly the worst story of finding true love in the world. Yet, it was their love, and as broken as it was, it was the only real thing he had.

"Thank you," he whispered, as they stepped through the front doors of De Vil Chateau and he felt the fresh air on his skin. "Thank you… for seeing something in me that was worth saving… worth loving, even when… when I couldn't."

"You don't need to thank me," she said, helping him onto the horse. "You saved me as well."

It was a healthy beast, and with the weight he'd lost and her slender frame, it would serve to bear them both well enough. Besides, he didn't think he'd be able to ride on his own… he needed her to guide the reins. As she spurred on the steed, he closed his eyes, wrapping his skinny arms around her waist for balance and leaning his head onto her shoulders to dull the pounding in his temples.

"I… can't… I can't kiss you or dance with you or hold you close at night. I'm broken. He… he broke me. I can't promise you a thing, Lucile… but… I can love you… in my own way. I don't… I can't even talk without… without stumbling over my words. But, I do love you… and… and I hope that's enough."

"It is," she said, moving one hand from the reins to clasp his hand again. "Caspian, we're not out of the woods yet. I don't have a dowry or a carriage or a glass slipper. My kingdom is gone. I'm all I have to give you. And, I don't want to kiss you in the rain or go dancing at a dozen balls. That's not me. I want you to be whole again, and I want to be whole again. You protected me from a monster, but he still hurt me as well. Not as bad… not as bad as he did you, because you shielded me from him, but… I can't promise you anything other than myself, and that I can love you in my own way as well. Is that enough for you?"

"It's… it's enough," he whispered, and she spurred on their horse, leading them to freedom.


	42. The Rogue of the Sea

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Six**

 **The Rogue of the Sea**

* * *

"Foolish woman," said King Philip, reaching out to remove several figurines from the map. At his side, Aurora tittered, shaking her head in amusement. Across from him, his generals looked distinctly uncomfortable to be there, but if they had doubts, they hid them well.

In ages past, the first King Charming had forged the largest empire that the world had ever known. From the Sea of Dreams in the West to the Enchanted Forest in East, the Kingdom had flourished under his rule. Yet, for all his skill at conquering and ruling, the man had been a fool when it came to inheritance. The man had three children and had been incapable of following his own laws, for he refused to name a single one as his heir and ignore the others. The greatest kingdom to ever exist and perished the day he died, for each of his children had been chosen to rule but a fractured portion of the land.

His daughter, Princess Aegina Charming, had laid claim to what was now Eléadoré. She had wed an Amoréan prince and taken on the name Charmant. Then, there had been the middle son, Prince Tristan Charming, had laid claim to the kingdom that was now Renvale, and by some miracle, he had retained the Charming name. Finally, there was Philip's own ancestor, Crown Prince Cedric, who had once stood to inherit all but, in the end, had been forced to cede his father's lands until all that was left was Somnia.

 _Foolishness._ Philip shook his head at the disdainful history. He had three children himself, a daughter and two sons: Anthony, Leon, and Aurelia, and he would sooner see his kingdom fall than split it between them. _What was it I said? Leon could wed Margaret, and Aurelia could wed Jaq, and it would restore the House of Revêre to the days of King Charming's glory._ Lies… it had all been lies. Philip did not intend for there to be three kingdoms when he was done.

No, he wanted what he'd always wanted. It had never been his intention to just a king, one voice amongst a dozen within the Council. No… Philip wished to _the_ king.

"Your Majesty," said General Baldur, finally breaking the silence. "Queen Trema—"

"She is not a queen," interrupted Philip, trying very hard not to roll his eyes. "She is an upjumped harridan who took advantage of the situation to rid herself and us of those pesky Charmants. There is nothing queenly about her. If she is a queen, then I am a stable hand."

"My apologies, Your Majesty," said Baldur, stroking at his beard. "Yet, regardless of title, Tremaine's invasion of Corona has come to an untimely end. By your order, we did not ride to Queen Rapunzel's aid when she first sent her plea, but her son now rules in her place. He is not likely to forgive us for our actions, and he has powerful allies at his back."

"Whereas we have none," said Prince Leon. "Is that what you're saying, Baldur?"

"Forgive me my impertinence, but it is the truth," Baldur continued. "King Cornelius Fitzherbert's own forces may have been decimated during Tremaine's campaign, but his numbers have been bolstered by the Amoréan survivors who serve his wife, Queen Alyssa. This is to say nothing of Arendelle… King Nicholas is his mother's son, but our spies report that he is far colder than she could have ever been… If Corona and Arendelle turn their ire towards us, Agrabah will side with them. Sultana Jasmine is not one to forgive a slight, and we refused her aid as well while her people starved. Her son, Ali, is betrothed to Queen Aquaria of Atlantica. Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness, but we have pissed off every royal in the land and then some."

King Philip nodded. _A good man, Baldur, and loyal… but so tedious._ Still, the general was a veteran of half-a-hundred battles, and his skills were not something that could be easily dismissed. There was power in names, and the thought that General Baldur commanded the legions of Somnia was enough to inspire both morale in his allies and fear in his foes. _Yet…_ Philip did not let himself complete the thought. There would be time for that later.

"The trinity of Arendelle, Corona, and Amoré does not concern me. They are children. Tenacious children, perhaps, but children all the same. With their armies decimated, they can not threaten us in Somnia. The Sea Bitch, Ursula, will keep Aquitania and Atlantica out of the equation for some time and, as for Agrabah, well… they have a surprise on its way."

King Philip rose from his seat, and he pointed at the map.

"My concern is with Renvale and Eléadoré. Tremaine has proved herself to be inept and is not a threat, but Renvale has not yet committed its forces to the war. Regina is a very dangerous foe and, unlike Tremaine, she knows exactly how this game is played. Truly, I underestimated her."

"Underestimated her?" asked Prince Anthony, a curious expression crossing his face. "Father, have you been keeping secrets from us again?"

Philip smirked. _Secrets… so many that even I have lost count._ This was the true face of ruling: Secrets and lies and deceptions, deals made in the dark, and covert moves that left your hands drenched in blood. Perhaps, one day, when he was done in his work, he would write a book to detail all that he had done. _I told Odile the location of Jafar's lamp… for a price. I sold the details of Queen Ariel's troop movements to Ursula… for a price. I sold out Maleficent to Regina, for a price… I lured Queen Snow into an ambush so that Regina could take her place. I helped fund Tremaine's coup._ And, as Queen Elsa would say, that was just the very tip of the iceberg.

He chuckled.

"One day, if you are king, you will learn that some secrets are best kept as secrets," said Philip. "Now, where were we? Aah yes, we were discussing our plans for Eléadoré. General Baldur, tell—"

"You have forgotten something, Philip," interrupted Aurora, and her eyes were stern as she surveyed the map. " _Her._ That woman and her spawn could spell disaster for us all."

The queen pointed, and King Philip's face soured as he was reminded of that wretched woman. Without hesitation, he reached out and tossed the wooden dragon statuette off the map before stomping on it. It cracked beneath his boot, and he snarled.

"Maleficent," he said, his eye twitching. "Don't worry about the bitch… she'll never leave Albion alive."

* * *

Lucile knew that they needed to keep riding, but their horse was winded and Caspian was barely drifting in the saddle behind her. He had already nearly fallen three times over, and it would only be a matter of time before she was too tired to keep him steady. It did not help that the sun was setting and the paths in these parts of Eléadoré were rough and uneven. If they kept travelling, she knew they risked their steed going lame, and that would cost them far more time than would a few hours of rest.

"Stop," she said to the horse, running a hand down Strangler's mane. "We'll rest here for the night."

"Thank you," replied Strangler.

As she dismounted, she couldn't help but notice how different Strangler was from the horses she'd known all her life. They'd been chatty creatures, and the stables had been one of her favourite places in the entire castle. It had smelled of hay and oats, and the royal steeds had all been friendly animals. Yet, Strangler was quiet, speaking rarely and in a strained voice, and it filled Lucile with a quiet, burning rage. She had seen what Damon had done to the mice in Hamelin, and she didn't want to imagine what he had done to the horses.

"Lucile… why… why are we stopping?" Caspian sounded dazed, as if he was only now realizing where they were.

"It's not ideal, but we need to stop for another rest," she said, reaching out to help him climb down from the saddle. Gingerly, he accepted her hands, nearly falling over her in his trembling as he climbed down to the ground. As soon as his feet were on the grass, he jerked away from her and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"He'll… he'll catch us if we stop," said Caspian, "We… we… we're… losing time… time..."

"We still have days worth of travelling ahead of us, and we've only stopped twice so far in the three days since we left Hamelin," she said. Lowering her voice so that Strangler couldn't hear her, she continued, "If our goes trips from exhaustion in the dark and breaks a leg, we'll end up having to travel on foot, and then we have an even smaller chance of escaping this place."

Caspian looked like he wanted to argue, but he shook his head and sank down against the nearest tree all the same. His shoulders slumped, and he buried his head into his knees, looking like he wanted to curl into himself until he disappeared. Lucile sighed, shivering in the cool night air as she turned her attention towards Strangler's saddlebags and dug through them for food. They didn't have much left. It was obvious that Caspian had packed only enough for one person, but with two of them here…

"Graze, but stay close," she said to Strangler, patting him on the head before turning away from the horse with a hunk of dried bread in hand.

She knelt down against the same tree as Caspian while taking care to keep a respectable distance from him, and she glanced at the area she'd chosen. There was no doubt in her mind that if her brother was here, he'd instantly see a dozen points of weakness and insist they move somewhere else, but it looked safe enough to her. They were hidden from the path by thick bushes, and the trees offered them decent protection from the elements. It wasn't as if they would be lighting a fire.

No, they'd be safe here for a few hours. It would be fine.

"Not… not there," said Caspian. "Here…"

He patted the ground on the other side of him, further away from the path, and she raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Safer…" he muttered. "Troubles comes… it'll… it'll come from the path. Stay… stay behind me… in case… in case that happens."

"Then it's going to have to get through me to get to you," she said, handing him his half of the bread. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't accept it. It had been an argument to get him to eat something during their previous breaks, and there was a grudging look in his eyes, but at least he wasn't fighting her on it anymore.

For a brief time after, there was silence as they ate. The bread was harder than a rock, and the only way she could get it down was to chew on it until it was so sodden with saliva that it didn't scrape at her throat on the way down. Still, it was better than nothing. The crickets chirped in the woods around her, and soon enough, soft snores echoed at her side. Glancing at him, Lucile felt a twinge in her heart. Even in sleep, Caspian's pain didn't seem to ease.

She was not a person to whom hate came easily, but when it came to Damon De Vil, she found that it was surprisingly simple. Lucile loathed that monster with every aspect of her being, and there was not a part of her that didn't wish him a very painful death. For everything that he'd done, he deserved to die a thousand deaths, each more horrific than the last.

A bird cawed, and she glanced up at the sound. In a nest atop the nearest tree, a crow settled for the night, barely visible in the gloom. An idea sparked in her mind, and she rose to approach the tree.

"Hello," she said, extending a hand. "You're a beauty, aren't you?"

"Hey," cawed the crow, peering down at her with a suspicious glint in its eyes. "What do you want?"

"Straight to business," she noted. "I can respect that. Will you keep watch over us while we sleep and caw if dangers draws near."

"And why would I do that?"

"Do you know who we flee?" she asked. _The mice were wounded, as were the horses. The hounds are probably tormented as well. Damon breaks all he touches. It's worth a shot…_ "We're close enough to Hamelin that you…"

"Hamelin." The crow screeched, anger glinting in its dark eyes. "Feathers of my kin decorate those halls. A dark place. A feral place. We no longer fly beneath its shadow."

"I'm not asking you to," she said. "Just keep watch. Please. You must know what he's like."

"Very well," cawed the crow, beating its dark wings as it rose into the air. "Spiting him is a task I cannot refuse."

Lucile watched as the crow circled the clearing, and she felt a slight bit safer as she returned to her spot beside Caspian. He was still asleep, which was for the best. Tsar Luna knew he needed the rest more than she did. Shivering as the cold night air crept along her skin, she curled up between the roots and closed her eyes, hoping for at least a few hours of sleep before it was time to ride again. Her body ached from the long hours spent in the saddle, and she was beginning to chafe from the friction. It was still better than Hamelin.

The minutes ticked by as she wished for sleep, but it was so cold. Her teeth began to chatter as the chill sank through her thin dress, and she rubbed her hands together in an attempt to keep them warm. Winter was stealing over the world, but a fire was the one thing that they really could not risk.

Trembling hands grasped her by the shoulders, and she almost jumped out of her skin in shock before realizing that it was just Caspian. _He has warm hands._ She turned, unsure of what was happening as he curled up beside her, trembling and shuddering as he wrapped his skinny arms around her, holding her close. _He's warm. He's so warm._ In the bitter cold of the night, heat almost radiated off his body, and she wasn't sure if that was _him_ or if it was just her feeling so chilled than the slightest bit of warmth was enough.

"I'm… I'm… a merman, remember," he muttered, his voice cracking, and she could feel the shudders running through his body as he held her. "Hotter… blood beats hotter than… than humans… so we can… can stay warm in… in the depths."

"You're torturing yourself," she whispered. She was grateful for his warmth, but she knew what touching did to him. She could feel him tremble like a leaf as he held her. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair to either of them. "You don't need to do this, Caspian."

"Yes… yes… I do…" he murmured, drowsiness creeping into his voice. "The… the chattering of your… your teeth. It was… was keeping… keeping me awake."

* * *

Jaq stared at the ceiling, his eyes sunken and hollow as he felt the bed dip beside him. He was naked, much to his disgust, but he had done his duty all the same. It filled him with revulsion and he had longed to vomit a thousand times through the long night, but he had endured all the same. _The longer they are content to find an heir through me, the more time Lucile has to escape._ The thought was all that kept him going. It was what forced him to swallow the meals provided, and it was what kept him from wringing Aurelia's neck in her sleep. She was not a fighter, and it would not take much to kill her.

He'd die, of course. King Philip would put him down like a feral dog if he dared lay a hand against Aurelia, but it would be worth it. She looked like a sweet girl, all ash-blonde hair and deep-grey eyes, but there was a malice in her that he had never experienced. _I like it when you scream,_ she'd whispered into his ear as she'd climbed on top of him for the first time, so _scream for me, Jaq._

There was very little left in the world that would bring him joy, and Aurelia's death was at the very top of the list. Yet, his hands were tied, and he could not kill her. Not yet, at any rate. Not until he was certain that Lucile was safe and free from King Philip's reach. It was his duty. She was more than his sister… she was his queen, and he was her sword. _To keep her secrets, to guard her person, to be her sword, her shield, her constant shadow. To trade my life, my freedom, my heart for her own, to guard her from this day until my last._ Such was his vow as Sword of the Queen, and he would honour that until his very last breath.

It was strange to be without her for so long. All who knew the Charmants knew that wherever Lucile went, Jaq followed, one hand on the hilt of his sword. They were as close as two peas in a pod, and he loved her with all his heart. Many said that there would be bitterness between them when the truth was revealed, that the very laws of their kingdom had been changed to strip him off his inheritance, but those people were wrong. Each of them had their paths to walk and his road had never led to the throne. He was born weak and frail. Childbirth had nearly killed his mother and put an end to her childbearing years. By all accounts, he should have never lived a week.

Yet, his sweet sister, a girl of three… she had stood vigil beside his crib and she had prayed. The Godmother had answered, and his mother's glass sword had been passed down to him, carrying with it the Godmother's blessing. _I owe her my life. All I am, I owe to Lucile._

"It annoys me when you grow so pensive," said Aurelia, turning on her side. She reached out to draw little circles across his chest, and he grew tense as a board as she did. His every instinct screamed for him to shove her aside, but he could not. He was stronger, and he could defend himself if need be… but he was her prisoner all the same, and his life was not his to throw away. Swallowing down the urge to flee, he forced a passive expression to his face.

"It's just who I am," he said, not looking at her. "We've known each other for a very long time, Aurelia. When have I ever been free with my smile?"

"I think that love would be enough to bring a smile to your grim expression," she said in a sugary voice, the gentle strokes fading to be replaced with her nails digging into his flesh.

 _You wouldn't know what love is if it punched you in the face, bitch,_ he thought. Their entire Royal House was a sycophant's wet dream: Queen Aurora, who had wed her womanizing rapist after he'd fucked his way through half his kingdom, going to great lengths to make sure any fruit of his labours met an untimely and grisly end while doing so. _The royal bastards…_ It was not secret that King Philip had nearly a hundred of them, though the rumours stated that only a single one of them had lived to adulthood. Then there were the princes, as depraved as their father and twice as mad, to say nothing of Aurelia herself. She was the most psychotic of the lot, yet it was almost too easy for her to pass herself off as a perfectly normal human being when the need arose.

Monsters… they were all monsters, and he was their dancing monkey.

"Pardon," he said in a gruff voice, rolling onto his side so that his back was to her. "You've tired me, and I need to rest if I'm to be ready for tomorrow's promised activities"

Mercifully, she let the matter rest. Jaq breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief before pulling the blankets to his chin, and he closed his eyes. This was his torment to endure for as long as he had to, and it was working. He didn't know where his sister was, but Aurelia was very loose-lipped. They didn't need Lucile if they had him, because all that King Philip wanted was an heir with a claim to Eléadoré. _It's almost funny that he has the one prince in the land incapable of siring an heir_ , he thought to himself, and the notion gave him some sick degree of pleasure.

Sleep stole upon him, and for the first time since coming to this place, he dreamed. He was standing in a forest. Trees rose up around him to touch the sky, dripping creepers from the branches. Flowers bloomed around his feet, and he glanced around, trying to find his bearings. Something darted through the bushes and he gave chase without thinking. He didn't know why, and he wasn't sure where he was, but he just knew that he needed to follow.

 _It's a rabbit,_ he realized upon catching sight of the white fur and floppy ears. No sooner had he put two and two together did the rabbit disappear down a hole, and Jaq lunged. He yelped as he fell through the shrubs, because the hole was much larger and deeper than he'd realized, and he was tumbling head over heels through darkness. Panic bloomed within him, and he scrabbled at the earthen walls, desperately trying to find an armhold. He fell for what felt like forever, and then he slammed into the ground.

Jaq bolted upright in bed, clutching his chest. His heart beat harder than a drum, and he breathed in ragged pants. _It was just a dream,_ he whispered to himself. _It was just a dream._

* * *

"Take speed, Bloodborne," barked Damon, digging his spurs into his steed's flanks. Blood seeped from the beast's coat, and it was frothing at the mouth. This would likely be its last ride, Damon realised. A shame. He had hoped for better from this particular beast of burden. He growled in frustration. He needed to return to Hamelin, and he needed to be there now. His meeting with Tremaine had been completely useless, and the old whore had needled him incessantly. She had dared threaten to imprison him in her own dungeons if he didn't hand over Lucile… for free.

The gall of that woman. A silken, honeyed word from him had been all it had taken to free himself from her guards, and he had been forced to flee the castle at once. Even with his power, controlling every soldier she'd otherwise send his way was beyond his capabilities. He needed Dominique at his side to be at his most effective, and she was gone. His lover, his sister, his other half… Curse them, curse them all for taking her from him.

Tremaine would fall by the wayside. Eléadoré would not be spared his wrath. There was a bitter strength in Hamelin that not even the Charmants could quash, for there was no army in the land that could stand before a De Vil and win. In the distant past, his mother had defended their lands with her fortune. It was gold that won wars, and the coffers of Hamelin had always run deep. Yet, there had been little need for gold once his father had entered the picture. The need had all but disappeared once Dominique and he had been born. Their allure was far too powerful for most armies to resist, and the Council had kept a wary distance.

Curse them. Curse them all. Curse Tremaine and curse her master. Curse each and every one of them. Damon gritted his teeth as he passed by the borders, a sense of relief filling him as he spied his manor rising up in the distance. His playthings would be there waiting for him, and he was very angry. A smile curled across his lips. Perhaps he would finally have the opportunity to make Lucile scream. She was so demure in white… yet he was quite certain that she would look much better in a dressed stained red.

It did not take him long to reach his manor, yet even as he rode through the gate he could feel that something was amiss. Damon glanced around, reaching out with his mind in search of his pet. For some reason, he could not feel the merman… worse, where once there had been a connection—not unlike a single gleaming thread—didn't seem to be there any longer. It was strange. The only time he had felt something like this was when his pets had died and the connection had broken, but he had left specific instructions that Caspian was not to harm himself.

The prince could not be dead, and yet he wasn't _here._

Dismounting, he rushed into the manor, taking note of the unswept foyer. _Where are the servants?_ It made no sense. _Could Tremaine have?_ No, bold as the harridan may have grown, even she would not risk a war with him so soon after his father had been sighted. He ran from room to room, his anger growing as the answers continued to elude him. No blood, no signs of a struggle, yet they were all gone. _The servants… the pets… and the girl._ He screamed as realization came upon him. _That wretched cunt._

Damon ran to the stables as fast as he could, clenching his fists in rage as his worsts fears were confirmed. A horse was missing… as were his prisoners. They had fled. It was impossible, but they had escaped his allure and fled. _She was resistant._ Sense began to emerge from nonsense, and he screamed again, this time in rage. The little bitch had been biding her time… her power was far stronger than she'd let on. She'd waited for him to leave before making her move, and the broken wretch of a prince had gone with her. _I should have broken them both before leaving._

" _You play with your food before feasting," said Cruella, rolling her eyes as she raised the knife. In a single bloody stroke, she ended the fawn's life before turning to Damon. "Admirable, but if you get carried away you ruin the fur."_

Mummy had warned him when he was a child but he hadn't listened. It was too late. He had gambled and he had lost. His precious pets. They were gone. No. No, it was not too late. He had scarce been gone for a few days. They could not have gone far, injured as Caspian was. He'd find them and drag them back, kicking and screaming, and this time he would not waste time playing with his food.

Bloodborne whinnied, and Damon rolled his eyes. Drawing his sword, he rammed the blade into the beast's belly, slashing it open and watching as the guts spilled out onto the ground. The horse shrieked as it went down, eyes wide and terrified, but Damon had already turned away to gear up another of his steeds. Savage would do. She was a much faster steed than her siblings, though not much for combat. It was no matter. Damon was riding to hunt not war. She snickered at the sight of blood, eyes wide with fear as she watched her brother die upon the ground. _Good,_ thought Damon, _let the fear of failure motivate her to go faster than she's ever galloped in her life._

Mounting her, he dug his spurs into her flanks and she took off, swift as the wind. He would find those two miserable rats if it was the last thing he did, and he would bring them back. All his plans rested on their heads, and damn the world if they thought they could escape him. They were toys, and he was not done with playtime. He'd deal with the servants when he returned. They had fled rather than remain behind to give him the news that his captives had fled, wasting his valuable time in the process, and he'd skin them for it.

Winter would be upon them soon enough, and he was sure their children wouldn't mind new coats.

* * *

The Piper looked around the clearing. The grass was slick with blood and corpses hung from the branches. Rays of light pierced the canopy, illuminating the hanged men. They swayed in the breeze like dolls, their antlered helms casting eerie shadows upon the green. It was a pity. He had heard great things about the druids of Albion and their power, but it would appear that not even those who followed the path of Merlin could escape his song. _It was fun, at least_ , he decided.

Albion was one of the world's last few bastions of the wild. The air was cool and clear, free of the toxicity created by man, and the animals were so unaccustomed to humanity that they were tame. _They have not learned fear…_ It was a beautiful land, and it would make a perfect final resting place for one such as the dragon bitch that had taken Cruella from him. The Piper scowled. It had been difficult to find himself a partner who accepted his ferocity and revelled in his bloodshed, but Cruella had been perfection.

She had been his greatest love and his greatest weakness, and what little light there had been in his world had dimmed when she had been taken from him. His actions were no longer in service of Pitch… in fact, he doubted if the Bogeyman even knew he was here. To be perfectly honest with himself, the Piper didn't quite care about the war effort. He didn't care about this kingdom and that empire, and the entire world could burn for all he was bothered. No, he wanted vengeance, and that would be the end of it. It was odd… Damon and Dominique were but pawns, too twisted and without intellect to properly entrance him, but Cruella… His lover had been a special one indeed.

Slowly, he brought his flute to his lips and began to play. _She will arrive soon, and I had best be ready._ The Piper was under no illusions. Maleficent had earned her reputation and, despite his own power, it would not be an easy fight should they come to blows. It would be much easier to take her unawares.

A still sense of disquiet loomed across the land as his melancholic tune echoed across the forests and the moors. The animals grew lethargic, slowing into their movements until they reached the ground to fall into a deep sleep. In the distance, he could just make out the beating off massive wings. _She comes…_ The Piper intensified his song, and the very trees seemed to lose their lustre. A thunderous crash broke the silence, and the Piper hopped off his rock without breaking his tune. _That was remarkably easy._ He fought the urge to grin.

He was the Pied Piper, after all. Truly, he had worried for nothing. There were very few powers in this world that could stand against him, and Maleficent could hardly count herself those lofty ranks. Slowly, he walked towards the sound of the crash, his eyes gleaming as he took in the sight of the sleeping dragon. She was a magnificent beast and, if he was being honest with himself, he longed to break her mind and tame her. She would make a magnificent mount, but the risk was too great. Weaker minds than hers had proven themselves able to resist the Piper's allure, and it was best to not play with fire.

She had landed hard, he realised as he drew his sword. Her body had dug a deep furrow along the ground when she'd crashed into it, and her body was covered in soil. Smoke poured from her nostrils, but the gentle rise and fall of her chest told him all he needed to know. She had grown entranced by his spell, and now she was his prey. Standing beside her enormous head, he raised his iron sword, and he swung it at her neck.

His sword cut through her as though she was made of smoke, and his eyes grew wide in alarm. _What trickery?_

"I find myself oddly disappointed," said Maleficent from behind him, a cold smirk playing across her lips. With a wave of her hand, the dragon disappeared into a puff of green smoke, and she winked. Flecks of green light danced around her lashes as she did so, signifying her spell.

The Piper leapt aside as his flute burst into fragments. Gritting his teeth, he aimed his sword at her. _Well, so much for wanting to do this the easy way._ Curse the bitch. She was craftier than he'd given her credit for, and he'd given her the opportunity to destroy his most powerful weapon. This was bad, but he could not let her see how she'd thrown him for a loop. Forcing a casual expression to his face, he adjusted his hat.

"Maleficent," he said in as warm a voice as he could muster. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I was just in the neighbourhood," she replied. "A dragon's hearing is very good, you know. I heard a strange song in the distance and decided it was unwise to travel without first casting a spell of clarity upon my mind. Fortunate, isn't it?"

"Yes…" The Piper smiled. "Fortunate indeed."

"Now, you were trying to kill me, weren't you?" she asked, her smirk growing. "Let us rectify that mistake."

"Mistake?"

"Foolish man," said Maleficent, her eyes glowing green. "Your mistake was not succeeding."

* * *

It had been nearly a week since they'd stopped to rest in the clearing, and they were drawing near to the coast. Caspian could smell the sea air in the distance, and he could hear the waves cresting against the shore. The thought gave him hope. He just needed to remain awake for a little longer until they reached the ocean. The sea would help restore his power, if only a little, and he'd be able to get them away from Eléadoré. Even Damon would not be able to follow them over the sea without aid from Renata, and she was far away, having returned to Renvale to play her role in Damon's game.

"Are you okay?" asked Lucile, breaking him from his reverie.

"As… as well as I can be," he murmured, cursing the weakness in his voice. There had been a time when he had been as strong and as wild as the storms which ravaged the coasts, but Damon had broken him. It was hard to talk, and physical contact with anyone was agony. The exception, of course, was Lucile. The Princess of Eleádoré was not a warrior or a fighter. She possessed no powerful magic or weapons, but her strength was so much more than he could ever hope to reach.

Her meek nature hid her guile, and her soft touch masked a spine forged from titanium. She would break before she bowed. _I remember the girl you used to be, Lucile._ How could he not? He had spent every moment they had together mocking her for her piety and demure behavior, but she had never risen to the bait. Her brother had, but Jaq had always had a temper. Caspian sighed. It felt as if it had all been a lifetime ago when he had been an unbroken prince with the world at his fingertips and Lucile had been a princess without a true care in the world. They were different people then, and both of them had not been scarred by the shadows of Hamelin.

"I know you need to rest," she said, once again breaking the silence. "But we can't stop going. Not yet."

"I know." Caspian sighed and tightened his grip around her waist, holding onto her as their horse picked up speed. _Strangler_ , he remembered. Damon had been quite fond of giving his steeds some very interesting names, but Strangler was not as foul-tempered as some of the others. Yet, the horse was going too fast for him to keep his balance, and it was only by holding onto Lucile that he could keep himself upright.

They'd picked up a few other stragglers as well along the way, and he was not an idiot. He knew what Lucile could do with her voice. He knew about her magic. The crows that came and went whenever they made camp for the night, or else circled the sky above them, was no coincidence. At first, it had been easy to miss, when there had only been one.

"What will… will you do when we… when we… when we… reach Aquitania?" he asked, unwilling to let the silence return.

"I will petition the council for enough gold to ransom my brother free of Somnia," she said, "But, if King Philip refuses to exchange him for a price, I will gather an army instead."

"You don't... need the Council," he said, shaking his head. "You'll have... Aquitania at your… at your side, whatever you... choose."

Lucile was quiet before turning slightly in her saddle to meet his eye. Her gaze was sad, and she wore a wan smile.

"As grateful as I am for the offer, I could never drag your kingdom into another war," she said. "Caspian, you flatter me, but I have always relied on others to make my moves. I relied on my parents to defend my claim to the throne and I relied on my brother to defend my person. It is time that I fought my own battles."

"You relied… relied on nobody but… but yourself to save… save us from… from him," he countered. "You relied on… on… on nobody but yourself to… to break my curse. You're stronger than… than you… you realize, and I'm not… I'm not offering to… to help you… you in turn. I'm telling… telling you that I will."

Lucile smiled. "Then, Prince Caspian, you are much more worthy of your father's mantle than you realize."

He sucked in a breath, for her words were as though she had flung ice water across his face. King Eric was a good man who had always known his duty, and Queen Ariel had always done the right thing. His parents would have never fallen into Damon's trap, and they would have never done the things he'd done. _I am not yet worthy of their legacy. I just am not._ When his parents were his age, they had already brought down both Ursula and Morgana, and they—

"When your mother was your age, her actions nearly brought Atlantica to its knees," said Lucile. "Has nobody ever told you what happened? My mother told me the stories when I was a child."

"How did you know what I was thinking?" he asked, reeling at her words. _No… Mother never erred in her judgement. They defeated Ursula without compromise. It was a fairytale._ He closed his eyes. _Life is not a fairytale, though, is it?_

"You were thinking out loud," said Lucile gently. "But, truthfully, it wasn't as easy for them as you be—"

Lucile screamed as Strangler reared, throwing them both from their saddle. They hit the ground and Caspian yelped, his wounds aching from the impact. The horse shrieked, spittle spraying from its lips as it took off, an arrow sticking out of its rear leg. Caspian turned, eyes growing wide, and the blood drained from his face. A furious rider was approaching, his steed kicking up a cloud of dust, and the rider's eyes glinted with malice.

 _Damon._

"Run," Caspian said, pushing at Lucile as he got to his feet. He had no weapon with which to defend them, but he could hold the other man off long enough for her to get away. It was their only option. _So close to home… yet so far._ His lip trembled as he reached for a rock, and he prepared to make his stand.

"No," said Lucile, drawing her dagger. "I'm not running again."

Before he could reply, Damon was upon them. Caspian acted quickly, shoving Lucile out of the way as Damon's steed reared up in front of them, lashing out with his hooves. He flung the rock, catching the horse in the jaw, and he instantly realized that he'd made a grievous error.

The horse kicked him in the chest and he went flying, his ribs screaming in pain as he hit the ground. His breathing was ragged, and he got to his feet, realizing that he was very close to the edge of the bluffs. He swayed dangerously as he stood, and bloody spittle ran down the corner of his mouth. The world was blurry, and he could feel it getting dark around the edges. _I didn't run... Mother, the one time it mattered, I didn't run._

"Well, look at you," said Damon, approaching him with his knives in hand. "You're dead on your feet. A pity… I'd hoped to play with you a little more."

"I'm not… not your… your toy," stammered Caspian.

"Indeed," said Damon. "More's the pity."

Without hesitation, Damon kicked him in the gut and he toppled backwards, his arms spinning as he tried to regain his balance. Lucile screamed and he was falling through nothing, the wind rushing past his ears as Damon laughed. Caspian closed his eyes as he fell. _I'm sorry, Lucile._

Then, he hit the sea and sank like a rock.

* * *

"Caspian!" screamed Lucile and, without a care for her own safety, she lunged. Her dagger flickered as it cut through the air, and droplets of blood splashed as it nicked Damon across the cheek. He howled, whirling on her with a fierce backhand, and she cried out as he knocked her to the ground.

"Stupid bitch." He snarled. "I was hoping to keep you alive, at least, but now I think I'll fuck you with that knife instead."

Lucile blinked as she dragged herself to her feet. Reaching down, she ripped her dress along the side, knowing that she needed to move unrestricted. Then, she raised her dagger and pointed it at Damon, her glare harder than steel. She was not a fighter, but fuck him to hell and back if he thought she was going to go out without a fight.

She lunged again, slashing at him with her dagger. He ducked with ease, laughing as he did so. Then, he brought up a knee, catching her in the stomach, and he grabbed her by her braid. He flung her aside without breaking a sweat, and she gasped for breath as she hit the ground again. Clutching at her stomach, she stood up again.

This time, she was more careful with her attack. She feigned at his face before ducking low and bringing up her dagger in a vicious stab, aiming right at his gut. For a moment, it looked as though the feint would work, and then his fist took her in the cheek, knocking her to her knees. Pain erupted across her face, and tears formed in her eyes as she forced herself back to her feet.

"Tenacious bitch, aren't you?" said Damon, his eyes glinting. "Good, I like it when they struggle."

"One of us will die before that happens," she said, and she stood her ground.

Damon smirked before lunging, knives glimmering in each hand, and Lucile threw herself out of the way. Still, she was not quite fast enough, and she felt a sharp sting across her side as she rolled across the grass. Gasping, she brought a hand to her side, and it came away bloody. _It's just a flesh wound,_ she thought. _He just broke the skin._

This time, Lucile remained on her knees. He was stronger and more skilled than she could ever hope to be, and the only thing that had kept her alive this long was her rage. Yet, if she kept up her assault, she would die, and where would that leave her? No… she was the true queen of Eléadoré, and she refused to give in to this monster. _I will die before he takes me._

Her chest heaved as he approached, and she fought for breath. Her body ached, and his laughter stung at her ears. That was the worst part of it all. He was mocking her, laughing at her anguish. Damon was _pleased_ that he'd caused so much suffering, and she could not bear it.

He loomed over her and buried his hand in her hand, yanking her head up so that she met his eyes. Lucile scowled, and he spat in her face. A globule of foul saliva ran down her cheek, and she could do nothing but glare in retaliation. _Wait… just wait a little longer._

"I'm going to make you scream, darling," he said with a broad grin. "I'm going to rip open that pretty little cunt you have between your legs and fuck you bloody. After I kill you, I'll have your body sent to Somnia so your brother can see what's become of you."

He cackled. "It's a shame about your boyfriend, though. I was hoping to see if my hounds liked seafood. Would you have liked to see that? I'd have made you watch anyway. He always cried when we fucked, you know? You could see the light dim in his eyes. I wonder how long it'll take for the spark to dim in yours."

Revulsion filled her, making her want to vomit, but she remained passive. She waited as he leaned in closer, gritting her teeth as he tugged on her hair, pulling her head up higher and higher to expose her throat. He reached down with his free hand, and he grasped her by the sleeve, yanking so hard that the fabric ripped. He giggled, and she struck. She drove her dagger into his inner thigh with as much force as she was able to put into her blow, and his blood spilled across her fingers. Damon screamed before shoving her aside and falling to the ground, blood pooling around him, and she took a deep breath. He pulled out her dagger and cast it aside, clamping a hand around his wound, and he staggered upright while wearing murder in his eyes.

"Do your worst," said Lucile, forcing herself to rise once more. "That was your femoral artery I cut open. You have a few minutes left at most."

Damon's scream tore at her ears as he leapt onto her. They hit the ground in a tangled mess of limbs, and his hands closed around her throat. Her eyes bulged as she scratched at his face, aiming for the eyes, and she could feel her dress grow slick with blood. Desperately, she fought for breath as the color drained from his face and the blood drained from his body.

 _I win…_

Black spots danced across her vision. Then, there was a flash. Golden light swirled around them like mist, and it was seeping into Damon's skin. His eyes glowed like embers, and he threw back his head, cackling like a hyena. Slowly, he released his grasp upon her throat and rose to his feet, his laughter growing louder and louder. _He isn't bleeding anymore. Tsar Luna, what devilry is this?_

"There must always be a piper," he shrieked, writhing as though possessed. "It's time to pay the piper. Pay, pay, pay. There must always be a piper. Yes, haha, Daddy's gone now too, but there'll always be a piper."

Damon hunched over as he laughed, stumbling from side to side as he clutched at himself. The last of the golden light sunk into him, and he went rigid, arching his back as his laughter turned to maniacal screams. After what felt like eternity, he grew silent, and he cocked his head to the side. He giggled, but it was soft and menacing, and his head moved so slowly she could all but hear it creak.

Lucile saw his eyes beneath his fringe, and they were the eyes of the devil himself.

"Now," said Damon, drawing a knife from his belt. "Where were we, sweet Lucile?"

With the greatest effort it had ever cost her, Lucile bit her lip and forced herself to her feet once more.

* * *

The water flowed around his body like a nourishing balm, and time seemed to grow slow around him. For merfolk, the sea could heal all but the most grievous of injuries, but there were limits to what it could do. His ribs were broken and his organs were punctured. The wounds inflicted upon his body by Damon were too numerous to count. As he sank, Caspian could feel his fingertips begin to bubble.

 _We are the children of the sea. When we die, we return to the tides which gave us life._

Such was the cycle of Merfolk, and he was no exception. Caspian knew that he was dying and, much to his surprise, he found that he was content with the knowledge. _I'm sorry, Lucile._ They had come so far, and they come so close to freedom, but who had they been kidding? He was not brave like Ali. He was not bold like Aquaria. He wasn't strong like Lucile.

He would not be missed, not really. Such a sorry thing to accept upon the pinnacle of death, but he could not lie to himself. This was the road he had chose to walk all those years ago, for he had let himself live by jealousy and bitterness and greed even when he knew that he should and could do better. He had wanted the trident, the throne, the riches, the glory… but he had never been willing to pay the price for any of those things.

 _I'm sorry, Lucile. I'm sorry, Aquaria. I'm sorry, Mother. I'm sorry… everyone._

In the end, all he could do was apologize, even if there was nobody left to hear him.

"Open your eyes," said a voice that was both stern and warm, and he shook his head. _No, get away from me, ghosts of my past. Let me die in peace._ He was tired. He was so very, very tired, and he had already endured so many unspeakable horrors.

"Open your eyes, Caspian," the voice repeated, and he felt a warm current take his body, drawing him back towards the shore.

Against his better judgement, Caspian opened his eyes, and he felt tears sting at them as he did. In front him, his mother floated, resplendent in her golden armor, and the scales along her tail gleamed like a thousand emeralds. Her hair drifted around her life whorls of fire, and her eyes gleamed. For a moment, he feared that she would strike him, or run him through with the sword she held in place of her trident, but then she surprised him by pulling him into her embrace.

She was dead and cold and gone from this world, but her arms were warm. Caspian sobbed into her shoulder like a small child as his mother embraced him, and he let it all out. The pain, the anguish, the solitude… he let it pour from him, years and years of his walls crashing down at once. It was the first hug she had given him in years, and he couldn't help but cry harder to know that she loved him more in death than she ever had in life.

"That is a lie," she said, shaking her head as she drew away from him. "I have always loved you more than my own life, Caspian. You and your sister have always been my most priceless treasures… always."

He opened his mouth and no sound came out, but she continued as if he'd never tried to interrupt.

"It is not I who needs to forgive you, Caspian," she said with a sigh. "I was a terrible mother, so intent on being queen that I neglected my own children. I let my throne make me cold, and though I loved you, I dared not show it. Even in Atlantica, there are those who desire the return of the Caecilia of old. It… Do you remember Melody? No… How could you when you were but a babe still at my breast when she died. My older daughter, your sister, killed because she was loved by a king and a queen who had many enemies."

Ariel swallowed, red tears running down her cheeks and dispersing across the sea. Her armor fell away, revealing the scorched ruin that was her torso, and she reached up to run a hand across it. Seafoam spilled from the hole in her chest, and Caspian realized that she wasn't breathing.

 _We are the children of the sea. When we die, we return to the tides that gave us life… and we remain a part of those waters forever more._

"I… I… Mother… You did your best," he managed, feeling sickened at the sight of her battle-ravaged body.

"You are so like me when I was young, Caspian," said Ariel. "I never followed the rules. I never cared for my duties. I had dreams and I followed them and brought ruin to my kingdom because of it. I think I drove your grandfather to tears more than he will ever admit. But, you are not me. You are different. You are stronger. You have survived things that I never would have been able to. So don't give in, my son."

"Mother…"

Ariel smiled and she raised her sword. The blade was so sharp he feared he would cut himself by just looking at it, and there was a pearl upon the pommel. Waves crested across the hilt, forged from gold, and the sword crackled.

"Zephyrus, The Tempest Blade," said Ariel. "I've watched over it for a very long time, Caspian, and I kept it safe while waiting for this day. Your sister was destined to wield the trident, but this… this was always meant to be yours."

With trembling hands, Caspian accepted the blade, gasping as something surged through his veins. His eyes crackled as the sea storm rose within him, and white fire surged through his broken flesh. His bones kitted together and his cuts healed until his skin was as smooth as it had always been, and his scales gleamed like sapphires. The worst of his scars remained, smooth white lines across his flesh, but they were a part of him.

"I love you, Mum," he whispered, and he rose. Queen Ariel dissipated into reddened foam, her last expression a smile, and Caspian swam as fast as he could. He broke the surface, his tail splitting and becoming legs as he flew through the air, carried up by his momentum. Storm clouds roiled across the sky, black and crackling, and claps of thunder echoed in his ears.

As he landed, he felt the first raindrops begin to fall. _Good… the storm is coming._

* * *

Damon pulled back his fist and punched her again, frowning at her whimper. He had expected more of a fight after their first round, truth be told, but Lucile seemed to have given up. He cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow in disdain. Her lip was split, and her face was a blooded mess. A shame… she wasn't as pretty when she was covered in blood, and her eyes had swollen so much it was hard to see her eyes. She had such pretty eyes, though… One green, one blue, one green, like two precious gemstones.

He'd have to take them from her when he was done. He couldn't let her be buried with those beauties, not when he wanted them.

The thunderbolt took him by surprise.

He barely managed to dodge in time, and his hair stood on end as he whirled, letting Lucile drop to the ground as he did so. No matter, she was too broken to run. He could finish this next challenger with leisure before returning to her. She'd be begging by the time he was done, but whether for death or for more, Damon didn't quite know yet.

Then, he began to laugh. _Oh… this is just precious._

"Really?" asked Damon, rolling his eyes. "Didn't I kill you already?"

"You… you tried," replied Caspian through gritted teeth. He was barefoot and clothed in rags, and he was dripping with saltwater. His scales gleamed, and in his hands he held a blade which crackled with energy. Thunder rolled across the sky, and Damon was forced to take a step back despite himself.

 _Well… that's new._ Drawing his knife, Damon smirked. _It changes nothing. So, the merman's tasted the sea again and gotten a bit of a refresher. It's all good. I'm the Piper now. Poor Daddy. No matter. I'm the last Piper, haha haha, and Caspy's tricks can't do a thing._

"I should have expected you to be back for more," said Damon, and he raised his knife. Then, he ducked aside, eyebrows disappearing behind his fringe as a bolt of lightning struck the ground where he'd been just a few moments ago. The wind intensified, whipped into a gale, and the sea crashed against the bluffs with waves so high that the spray rained over them all.

"Do you… do you remember what you… you said to me on the day you kidnapped me, Damon?" asked Caspian, raising his sword. " _I expected… expected… expected more from the... the Rogue of the Sea_ , wasn't that it?"

"I can't quite recall," said Damon, and for the first time in a very long time, he realized that despite his recent rise in station and power, he was swimming in the deep end without a life-jacket.

"You… you took me by surprise," said Caspian, and he swept his sword through the air. A crest of lightning burst from the sword, and Damon barely had enough time to throw up a barrier. His protection spell shattered under Caspian's assault, and he went sprawling, his knife flying from his grasp.

"You found me when I… when I was at the… the lowest point of my life," Caspian continued. "Drunk and… and angry and alone, and you… you took… you took advantage of that." His voice boomed and his eyes flashed. "You… you tortured me. You defiled… defiled me. You raped me. You broke my… my body and you… you broke… you broke my mind, and you'd have… have broken my… my whole kingdom using me as your puppet if you had the chance."

Caspian raised his sword to the sky, and a dozen bolts of lightning burst from the tip to crest across the sky. The rain fell in sheets, pounding the bluffs beneath their fury, and Damon's eyes grew wide as saucers.

"You won't get… get that chance," concluded Caspian. "This. Ends. Here."

Damon screamed in anger. This didn't make sense. He'd broken Caspian. He'd shattered his mind. This was impossible! He would not allow it. He could not allow it. Without thinking, he reached for the last knife in his belt and he took off at a sprint. Bolts of lightning struck the ground, creating tiny craters, but he dodged them all. Golden light enveloped his knife. Good. He'd cut right through that pesky sword that Caspian was using, and it would put everything right back to the way it should be.

Caspian moved to the side at the last moment, and Damon swung at thin air. He stumbled, thrown off balance, and Caspian kicked him in the back, knocking him to his hands and kneese. Scowling, Damon made to roll away, but before he could move, he felt something punch through his back. The sword cut through him and pierced the sodden ground, pinning him in place, and he shrieked. Kicking and screaming, a part of him knew that he was only making things worse by widening the wound, but he couldn't help it.

 _It wasn't fair! He was the Piper! He had all the power. He'd already healed from Lucile's fatal attack. He'd heal from this as well. He had magic now. Powerful magic. He'd use it! He'd destroy them! He would! He'd break his toys all over again. This wasn't fair!_

As quickly as it had come, the storm abated. Caspian slumped to his knees, gasping for breath, and Damon turned, unable to move as the blood poured from his wound. He glared, watching the prince, and he reached for his knife. Fine then. If he was going to die, he'd take Caspian with him.

"No," said Lucile, plucking the knife from his grasp and tossing it over the bluffs.

Damon screamed, tears of rage spilling from his eyes as he looked at her. She was battered within an inch of her life, but she was still moving. It wasn't fair! He'd taken her down! She hadn't even been a threat.

"You little bitch." Damon scowled. "I should have taken you in Hamelin."

"You should have," said Lucile, staggering past him to stand beside Caspian. "You really should have. Instead, you broke the wrong part of me."

* * *

Lucile reached out with her mind, and at the barest edges of her consciousness, she made out what she was looking for. Weakened as she was, this would be the last thing she'd be able to do for quite a while, but it would be worth it.

" _Heed my voice and come,"_ she said, and the crows answered her call.

Damn continued to throw his tantrum, but she ignored him. Instead, she reached out a hand to help Caspian to his feet, and she winced as he leaned on her. For a moment, she stumbled against him, nearly knocking them both over, and then he steadied her in turn. _Who is holding who up?_ She didn't know, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

"That was quite the show," she murmured, watching Damon scream.

"We're both… both just lucky it worked," replied Caspian. "I…" He staggered, eyes flickering. "I don't… don't think I'll be able to… to conjure so much as a breeze for… for a... a very long time after that."

"Then let's finish this quickly," she said.

He nodded, and together they approached their wailing tormentor. Above her, the crows began to circle. _Good._ Damon was… honestly, he was pathetic in his defeat, screaming and sobbing whilst beating the ground with his fists. Yet, despite how shattered he seemed to be, how mentally deranged and broken she knew he was, she could not feel even the slightest drop of pity towards him.

 _I've changed, then…_

Caspian leaned over and wrenched the sword free of Damon's back. As soon as freedom was granted, Damon began to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood behind him. _Dying will take a long time coming if we leave him… and he may very well still heal._

Then, Caspian had grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back, and she had knelt beside him. Whistling, she called on the crows, and they descended in a black flurry, their beaks glinting as the swirled around them.

"You broke my wings, Damon," she whispered into his ear, feeling a sick sense of glee at the way he tensed. "You forgot my talons."

With that, the first crow attacked, raking its claws along Damon's cheeks. A second tore at his ear, and a third pecked at his lip. Blood flowed freely as he screamed, writhing and twisting, but Caspian had already released him and drawn both Lucile and he away. The crows attacked in masses, and Damon's shrieks grew louder as they tore at his flesh with their talons and beaks. His eyelids were gone and they stabbed at his eyes, and his clothes were in shreds as they aimed for the sensitive parts of his body, all desperate to feed. There was a chittering, and Lucile turned just in time to see a swarm of rats burst from the bushes and rush towards the dying man.

 _Food for vermin,_ she thought, _how fitting._

"Remind me… remind me to… to never get… get on... on your bad side," said Caspian, and though he watched the scene without looking away, she could see the horror in his eyes.

Yet, Lucile couldn't help it.

She smiled.


	43. Margaret

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Seven**

 **Margaret**

* * *

Regina paced the Hall of Mirrors, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. The hall was lit by a dozen smokeless fires, but she felt no warmth. All her plans had come to fruition, and after decades of scheming and fighting, she had finally won. She was the Queen of Renvale, and yet it brought her no pleasure. There were a thousand daggers waiting in her the dark, and her enemies were still as numerous as ever.

Snow was as powerless as she'd always been without a man to protect her, but her daughter was something else entirely. Regina had watched the girl through her mirrors for some time now, and she was surprised to find that Margaret was still sane. Greater heroes than her had lost their minds in the bleak nothingness of their prisons, but the girl's tenacity was greater than Regina could have ever expected. Then, there was the boy, and he looked so much like his father that it hurt. _Christopher Charming…_ He had been a snivelling little wretch before she'd sent him off to Amoré to die, but against all the odds, he'd survived to become a significant thorn in her side.

Like it as not, Renvale followed her only out of fear. If Christopher returned from his exile as the man he would become, the nobility and commoners alike would flock to his side. He was more powerful than she had given him credit for as well. Her mirrors could see much and more, and the spell he had unleashed in Amoré had been enough to give her pause.

"Mother?"

Regina turned, gathering her robes about her as her daughter walked into the room. _My sweet child._ If there was one thing in the world that she regretted, it was asking her daughter to follow her in her path. The fight had been won for Regina, but Renata had paid the price for her mother's victory in blood and suffering.

Had Damon De Vil not been dead, Regina would even now be roasting the wretched bastard over a slow flame and relishing in his pleas for mercy.

"Are you sure you should not still be abed?" asked Regina, hurrying across the room to help Renata to the nearest chair. Her daughter was wearing a brave face, but the poor girl could barely walk, and her voice was jittery.

"I'm not tired," Renata replied, wrapping her cloak around her. "Or at least, I'm not tired in the way that sleep can fix."

Regina reached down to run a hand down her daughter's cheek, unable to keep the rage from filling her eyes. She was not quite sure who it was that she was angry with. So many people had a hand in her daughter falling victim to Damon De Vil's allure, including herself, first for sending her daughter to accompany the De Vil twins to Arendelle and then for not noticing that Renata was under Damon's curse when she eventually returned to Renvale. _The horrors she must have endured._ For all her power, Hamelin was a place that even Regina feared to tread.

The war had made her an enemy of Prince Caspian and Princess Lucile, but if ever she had the opportunity to thank them for ridding this world of Damon De Vil and freeing Renata from his influence, she would do so without question. _We are monsters, all of us, but some monsters were better left in the dark._

"You should still have remained in your room to rest," chided Regina. Taking a deep breath, she returned to her mirrors. With a wave of her hand, a dozen images began to play, granting her vision over all that interested her.

"The Somnian Border," said Renata, pointing at a large mirror in a bronze frame. Within, men the size of ants patrolled the walls of an imposing fortress, and the drawbridges were up. Interesting… this was very interesting. It would seem that King Philip did not trust their alliance as much as he professed to.

"He will not dare to march against me," said Regina, shaking her head. _Philip is many things, and foolish is not one of them._ "He would incur too many casualties trying to take Renvale, and I am not Maleficent. That magical blade he wields does not work on witches as well as it does on dragons."

"If he does march, it won't be against us," agreed Renata. "Eléadoré is in shambles. At this point, he could walk right in and Tremaine wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop him."

"Tremaine is a stupid woman who got lucky. She wants power but has no idea as to what to do with it once she has it, so she just lunges after more. The attack on Corona was not in her best interest at all, and I don't even know what possessed her to hire Amoréans and send them against their own queen."

Then, something stabbed at her mind. Regina gasped, leaning over and clutching at a wall for support. _What trickery?_ She steadied herself, ignoring the look on her daughter's face, and she reached out to tap the nearest mirror. As her fingers ran across the smooth glass, a jolt rushed through her arm, and she was nearly thrown off her feet.

"Mother!" yelled Renata. Her daughter rushed to her side and helped her up, trembling like a leaf as she did so. Grateful, Regina squeezed her wrist before turning back towards her mirror.

"Someone is trying to break into one of my Mirror Worlds," she said with a snarl. Closing her eyes, Regina clenched her fist as she fought the throbbing in her temples. Instead, she searched for the root of the issue. This was no accident. The magical attack to throw her off balance had been incredibly precise, and it could only have been cast by someone who knew her ways.

There! Regina clenched her fist even harder as she narrowed in on the source, her nails digging into her palm so hard that she drew blood. Morgan Thorn. That wretched brat would be the death of her. Yet, she knew him. He was not powerful enough to strike at her from such a distance, yet the magic was still his… Then, Regina saw that there was someone helping him, someone much stronger and more versed in the ways of magic.

"Reveal yourself," Regina commanded, raising her hand. The mental presence pushing against hers shifted, coiling like a snake, and it struck again. Regina's eye twitched as it stabbed at her mind, and she already knew that this was little more that a diversion of some sort.

"I said…" She snarled, raising her hand and releasing her own magic in retaliation. "Reveal yourself!"

The fog obscuring the second individual parted, and Regina cocked her head in confusion. It was a girl no older than Renata, brunette and wiry, with a heart-shaped face and violet eyes. For a moment, the girl looked surprised. Then a white rune burst into being between them and Regina went flying as the connection broke.

Hitting the ground, Regina scowled. In the corner of the room, a mirror shattered, and she fought the urge to kick the wall in frustration. Of course… Of course it had to that wretched boy again. Well… if he wanted to play this game with her, Regina wouldn't pull her punches any longer.

* * *

Margaret Charming was alone.

The Mirror World was a vast expanse of endless white for as far as the eye could see, and it was almost enough to drive her mad. When her imprisonment had begun, she had feared the monsters that were said to lurk within this world, but now she would have welcomed the company. Anything would be a welcome change from the monotony of her imprisonment.

She had walked until her feet bled, and she had wept until her eyes grew dry as bone. Margaret did not know how far she had journeyed, and she had lost count of how long she had spent here. Days had turned to weeks, and those weeks had become months… until time lost what little meaning it had once had. There was no dawn or twilight in the Mirror World. In fact, there was nothing here but her.

Margaret knew that she had been here for years, but she was not quite sure how many. She was taller, and her hair was much longer than it had been when she had been fourteen. The change had altered her in other ways as well, but those were unimportant. All that mattered was that she was certain she would die in this forsaken world. For some reason, she never hungered and she needed no water, but it didn't stop her throat from burning and her empty stomach from gnawing at itself.

With a sigh, she sank to the ground. There had been a time when she had thought there would be a rescue, but it must have been a hallucination. It was not the first one she'd experienced in her solitude. In the latest one, she could have sworn that she'd seen Christopher—but her brother had looked so very different than the boy she remembered—and he had been with a girl. _The only girl who'd give Christopher the time of day is Priscilla, and she's as dead as he is by now._ For a change, no tears stung at her eyes. It was what it was, and there simply was no changing it. Everyone was gone… Father, Mother, Christopher, the royal knights and the courtiers… they must all be dead by now with Regina ruling over Renvale.

Bringing her knees up to her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs. _It is what it is._ Regina won. Renvale was gone. _I should have done more…_ But, what could she have done? She was a simperingly sweet flower whose only care in the world had been seeking out a prince to marry. Alyssa had her rapier, Aquaria had her trident, and Sigrun had her lance. Even Lucile, font of everything a princess should be, typically carried a sceptre with her. _She may have never learned to use it, but at least Lucile had a weapon._ What did she have? A garden rake?

The memory made her chuckle. At the very least, she could say that she had not knelt over and accepted her fate. Though she had lost, at least she could say that she had stood her ground like a Charming should.

" _Margaret!"_

She snapped to attention, narrowing her eyes as she glanced around her. _I know that voice._ It had echoed in her mind, and she was not certain where it had come from… but she recognised it all the same. _Is this a trick? Have I finally gone mad?_ Warily, she rose to her feet, keeping an eye on her surroundings as she did so. Slowly, she reached into her pocket and drew out a shard of the mirror she had been forced through. It was her only weapon, and it was not a good one, but it was better than nothing.

" _Margaret!"_

Margaret swallowed. It wasn't an illusion. Or was it? No, it couldn't be. He was dead. They all were dead. She was alone and hearing voices from the void. _But, could it be? Am I wrong?_ Against all the odds, Margaret took a step forward and, as loudly as she could, she screamed:

"Christopher!"

The emptiness in front of her rippled, and her eyes grew wide as a circle of runes formed in the air. Half were blue and half were green, and the swirled so fast they blurred together. Her breath came in ragged pants, and before her eyes, an arm reached through the portal.

" _Margaret, take my hand!"_

Without hesitation, Margaret grasped his hand. For a second, nothing happened, and then she yelped as she was yanked off her feet and through the portal. Passing through the swirl of magic was like stepping through ice water, and she threw back her head as a thousand tiny knives stung her skin. Her blonde hair swirled around her, tangled and unkempt, and she watched as the strands burned an icy white.

Then, she tasted fresh air upon her tongue, and she found herself in her brother's arms. Her heart soared in elation as she burst into tears, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could. She was babbling in his ear, her choked voice spilling a hundred words in the span of seconds, but all he did was hold her as he'd done when she had been a little girl who'd needed her big brother.

Behind her, the portal blinked out of existence, and she could just make out two figures stumbling to the ground. One was the girl who'd been with her brother during her last hallucination—but, it wasn't an illusion, was it?—and the other was the strange boy she'd seen in Arendelle. She knew his name, she was sure of it, but she just couldn't remember what it was. The two of them were pale as snow, sweat dripping from their brows, and their fingers trembled as they caught their breath. _They cast the spell…_

Then, everything else in the world fell away as Christopher drew away from her, and he smiled. _He's changed so much._ His face was harsher, and he wore scars upon his skin. He'd lost weight, even though he'd always been thin, and she could see the outline of muscles beneath his tunic. Yet, changed as he was, there was a familiar twinkle in his eyes, and his smile was the same as it had always been.

"Christopher," she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I thought you were dead?"

"I could say the same about you, Margaret," he said, and his voice was music to her ears. "It's good to see you again, sister."

* * *

Christopher yawned as he settled down beside the fire, his eyelids heavy as he reached out to accept a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread from the soldier. In the near distance, the City of Corona continued to crumble. The barrier erected by Maleficent to contain the toxic light created by Cornelius gleamed against the twilight, but it did its job well enough. They were safe enough from the toxins that had infected Queen Rapunzel, and it would not be long before Cornelius and Alyssa decided their next move.

For now, though, he was content to just enjoy his meal. It had been a very long day.

"Do you mind if I join you?" asked Morgan, and Christopher quickly scooted aside to let the other boy take a seat beside him. Morgan crossed his legs beneath him as he settled down, looking much better than he'd appeared this morning. There was colour in his cheeks again, and he didn't seem about to pass out at the faintest breeze.

For a while, the two of them sat in relative silence and enjoyed their supper. Above, the stars began to blink into existence, and around them, the soldiers of Amoré and Corona went about their business. The camp was always busy, and twilight was no exception.

"Thank you," said Christopher, finally choosing to break the silence. "I know how much of a toll using magic takes on you."

"You'd have done the same for me," said Morgan, a faint smile curling across his lips. "I can't take all the credit. Your witch did most of the work. I just helped out with what I could."

"Still," said Christopher. "Jess is good, but she'd have never been able to do it on her own. And, don't call her a witch."

"There's no shame in calling people what they are," said Morgan, raising an eyebrow. "She's a witch and Alyssa's a beast and—"

"And how would you feel if people called Nick a popsicle?" asked Christopher in a pointed tone.

"Point taken," said Morgan, and then he smirked. "Though, it is rather interesting that you'd use my reaction to Nick being called something slightly insulting as an example, isn't it?"

Christopher's cheeks burned red, and he looked away. _It isn't like that._ It really wasn't. Really. He couldn't deny that Jessica had been growing on him over the last few weeks, but she still annoyed him. There really was nobody in this world who could push his buttons as well as she could, but… he did give as good as he got. It was a push and a pull, and he enjoyed the time he spent with her, _but it wasn't like that._

"Shut up," he said, pushing Morgan in the shoulder. "She's just a friend."

Morgan chuckled and gave him a knowing look. "Whatever you say, Chris. So, how's your sister doing?"

"Fine, I think," said Christopher, his mood turning in an instant. "She ate enough to feed an army, and she damn dear drank an entire barrel of water before going to bed. She's… different. Older, I think. I'm not sure what exactly happened to her in her Mirror World, but she's changed so much, you know? I'm happy to have her back. I really am. I can never thank you and Jessica enough for helping me break her free. But, I also wish that she'd never had to go through what she has, you know?"

Morgan looked at him for a moment before sighing. For a moment, he looked ready to bite his tongue, but then he spoke:"She's aged three years."

"Time moves differently in the Mirror Worlds," continued Morgan. "I don't know much about them, really. Just the basics. The exact details are Regina's secret, and even my mother doesn't know much more than I do. But, they're pocket dimensions, and each prison is different. It's been six months since she disappeared for us, Chris, but it was around three years for her by my nearest estimate."

 _Three years._ Christopher felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. _She's lost three years of her life._ Her changed appearance finally clicked together in his mind, though the streaks of white running through her hair were still a mystery. The rest, though… she looked older because she was older. She wasn't a girl anymore, was she? She'd become a young woman within her prison.

"The important thing is that she's safe," said Morgan. "I don't know about you, but if I were in her shoes, I'd have rather lost three years than all of them."

"You're right." Christopher forced a tight smile to his lips. "It's just a lot to process."

"I can understand that," said Morgan, rising to his feet. "Care for a walk?"

Christopher nodded before rising to his feet. He stretched, working the stiffness out from his limbs, and then he followed Morgan down the makeshift path between the tents. As usual, the camp bustled with activity, but it wasn't bad. Soldiers walked from tent to tent, carrying supplies, or else they gathered around fires, filling the night with tales, gossip and laughter. The people of Corona were with them, though there were much fewer than he had expected, and all in all, it wasn't bad. He'd expected it to be terrible, the air thick with mourning and sorrow, but though sadness lingered across the camp, there was also a burgeoning sense of hope.

The people of Corona knew that the worst was behind them, and they were a resilient people who were already looking to the future. _It's always darkest before the dawn._ At this point, that saying may as well be the national slogan.

Finally, they reached the outskirts of the camp, and Morgan once more sank to the ground. His breathing was laboured, and he had lost some of his colour, but he seemed quite relaxed. Taking the lead from him, Christopher sat down beside him, watching the setting sun upon the horizon.

"You and I are very similar in many ways, I think," said Morgan, a wan smile on his face. "Maybe I'm wrong, but I think you know what it's like to have the world spit on you at every turn."

"I do," said Christopher, shaking his head. "It's different now, of course, but I had it pretty bad before the world went to hell."

"Likewise," said Morgan. "I've never had real friends before I met Nick, and there's no sugarcoating that I've had a very rough life. My mother is the Queen of Darkness, you know. There were a lot of people who wanted my head on a spike for it. A lot of them came very close."

Christopher sucked in a breath. _Well, I can safely say that my bullies never tried to kill me. Maybe maim and shame, but never kill._ He felt out of his depth, all of a sudden, as if his own stories just could never match what the other boy had to say, but… it wasn't a competition, was it? Pain was not a sport, and there were no winners. They had just suffered in different ways, and it didn't mean that one had felt more pain than the other.

"I think the closest I came to dying as a child was when the Revêre brothers dunked my head in a toilet and held me under until I thought I'd drown," Christopher said, biting his lip. "It's probably nothing compared to the horror stories in your closet, but what I'm saying is that I do know how bad people can be."

"I don't know, I reckon that's pretty bad," said Morgan, shrugging. "My brothers are royal cunts, the both of them, and I wouldn't wish their company on my worst enemy."

 _Brothers?_ Christopher turned, his eyes widening. Morgan snorted, looking ready to clap a hand to his brow, and Christopher was certain his friend had not meant to let that slip. _He's… King Philip's son?_ His world reeling, Christopher pursed his lips. _He's a Prince of Somnia. There's no denying it._

"You're the Lost Prince of Somnia, aren't you?" asked Christopher, "King Philip sired half-a-hundred bastards, and then he had them all executed to protect his throne, but try as he might, he couldn't get his hands on the last of them. I knew… I just didn't know it was you. Morgan, the Decree of Legitimization…"

"And, upon his death, King Leonardo of Somnia decreed that all bastards were equal in the eyes of the law, so that his bastard son, Francis the Red, could inherit his throne, for the king had no trueborn heir. As he lay dying, he knew that without a bloodline, his throne would pass to the Charmants, and that was something he could not allow. Since the Decree of Legitimization, all bastards of Somnia are entitled to all that their trueborn siblings are, for to deny them this is to delegitimize King Philip's entire line." Morgan shook his head. "I know the story by heart. When I was young, I dreamed of being a prince, you know? It changed nothing. My father showed me how little he cares with a cursed needle and lifetime of hate."

"I'm sorry," said Christopher, reaching out to clap the other boy on the shoulder. "I really am."

"It is what it is, Chris," said Morgan. "We both have known a lot of pain and suffering, and it wasn't right and it wasn't good, but our scars made us who we are today. Honestly, I can't regret having them anymore."

Christopher took a deep breath, and he turned to look out into the night. The moon was rising to its apex, and the breeze had grown chill during their conversation. For the longest time, he thought about what Morgan had said, and finally, he replied.

"Neither can I."

* * *

" _I don't know if You can hear me or if You're even there. I don't know if You would listen_

 _to a gypsy's prayer..."_

"General Silvanus has quite the voice on him," said Nick as he took a seat beside the fire. The night was cold, not that he quite minded, and it was not the warmth of the crackling flames that had brought him here. Instead, on this last night, he just wanted company. "Do you know this song?"

"God help the Outcasts," replied Alyssa with a tired smile. "It's an Amoréan song, sung by the Romani during the reign of Count Frollo."

She looked more worn that Nick have ever seen her. There were dark rings beneath her eyes, and her long hair was undone. It fell down her back in a mess of red tangles, which was most unlike her. For as long as he'd known her, Alyssa had been as wild as they came, but she had always masked herself in poise and beauty. Yet, now the mask was slipping, and she didn't quite look like the formidable Queen of Roses.

"Silvanus' grandmother was a key figure during the rebellion against Frollo, wasn't she?" asked Cornelius, looking thoughtful. "Even in Corona, we've heard tales of Lady Esmeralda and her dance of flames."

"Arendelle as well," added Nick. "Though, I'd wager that's the point of learning history from one's tutors."

"My tutors and governesses all despaired of ever making me a princess," said Alyssa, shaking her head. "My father as well. There was so much he tried to tell me, and I wish I'd listened. Mother as well. She was the wisest woman in the world, and I should have listened more and acted less."

Nick opened his mouth to reply, but he could think of nothing to say. It was a sobering moment. He _had_ listened to his own mother when she had spoken, and he had learned from her at every available opportunity. When he was younger, the other royals had always joked about him being her shadow, for wherever she went, he would follow. Yet, the truth was no secret. By following her, he had learned.

Yet, for all that he had listened and learned over the years, there was no denying that he wished she was still here as well.

"More than a few of the tears that Mother has shed have my name on them," said Cornelius, breaking the silence. He poked at the fire with a stick, stirring up a flurry of sparks, and his jaw grew tight. "She never thought I'd ever be serious about anything, and I was always reckless."

"They knew who we were," said Nick, his voice soft. "They always knew."

"That they did," said Christopher, coming up behind him. "They may not have liked it at times, but they always did know we weren't them."

Morgan walked beside him, hands stuffed into his pockets, and by the expressions on their faces, something was up. His consort looked troubled, and it could be almost any number of reasons at this point. The world had turned on its head in the last few months, and they were all reeling from a dozen different things at any given moment. Nick made to ask, but a look from Morgan silenced him.

" _I'll tell you later, Frosty,"_ Morgan thought-spoke, taking a seat beside Nick and leaning into his side.

For a time there was silence, each of them contemplating the truth of those words. Even for Nick, who had last parted with his mother on good terms, it was a wearisome train of thought. He had done things in his life that had upset her, and he did not doubt that some of his choices were not ones she had agreed with, but she had always hid her misgivings well. Yet, as he ruled, there were always doubts creeping in.

 _Would you have done as I have?_ Nick wondered, pursing his lips. _Would you have executed Rolf? Raised Yuë to the nobility? Come to Corona at such a perilous time for those you love?_

 _If you had been in my shoes, and had Aunt Anna been in Cor's, could you have done what I have?_

And, as always, he had no answers for the hundreds of questions he wished to ask her.

"Go to Corona and don't come back. Perhaps you will be happier there since you are so very miserable here," said Alyssa, and when she looked up, her gaze was haunted. "The last thing my father ever said to me before the curse claimed him."

Cornelius reached out to take her hand, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Nick watched, knowing he should say something, but there were no words that could properly express how he felt about the entire affair. As their best friend, he wanted to do nothing more than comfort them after all that they had endured. On the other hand… no, he dare not even think it. The past could not be changed, and it would do nobody any good to point out that all that had befallen Corona and Amoré had begun when the heirs of both kingdoms wed in secret.

He swallowed. As much as it hurt him to consider it, every action had a reaction. He knew that, and he was still dealing with the consequences of his own decisions. The Duke of Weselton, for one, was irrevocably his enemy, and the truce they held was an uneasy one at best. The Duke would not forget what had been done to Rolf, and Nick would not forget through whose waters Rolf's ships had been allowed to sail.

 _Would they have still married had they known how bloody the price would be?_ If he was speaking honestly, Nick already knew the answer. Alyssa had always had a selfish streak, and Cornelius was brasher than most. He knew and accepted their flaws and he loved them all the same, but the truth was simply the truth, and there was no changing that.

The need to say something was, mercifully, removed, as Christopher breathed a deep sigh and began to speak.

"I suppose you're not completely useless," said Christopher. He swallowed, not looking away from the crackling flames as a log snapped, throwing a shower of sparks into the air. "The nicest thing my mother ever said to me."

"When I was twelve, I was betrothed to Prince Leon of Somnia," said a quiet voice, and a figure emerged from the row of tents. Margaret Charming approached with a hesitant expression on her face, and she took a seat beside her brother before drawing her knees up to her chin. "Mother arranged it all. Prince Leon is very rich and very handsome, but he's also cruel. I pleaded with Father to stop it, and he did, and Mother was more furious with me than I have ever seen her."

"Pawns," muttered Christopher. "We were both just pawns for her to use."

"You did dodge a bullet, at the very least," said Morgan, "Leon Rêvere has quite the reputation for burying his lovers. There's a reason only the most desperate of Somnian nobles still want to broker a marriage between their daughters and the princes."

"That I did," said Margaret with a shudder. "It would also be why I pushed so hard for a match with Nicholas or Cornelius…" She brushed her white-streaked hair out of her eyes and sighed. "The two of you were closest to my age and even if there wasn't much we had in common, I knew that I could at least count on you to be kind."

"It does paint quite the picture about the state of lives in a normal world that kindness in a partner is the best one can dare hope for," said Nick, diplomatically opting not to mention how thoroughly miserable Margaret would have been had she married him.

"It paints a very bleak picture indeed," said Cornelius, shaking his head. "If it makes you feel better, Margaret, I'd have rather married you than Aurelia had it come to that."

"That someone prefers me to the princess who strangled a puppy because her father commanded it is a very high honor indeed," said Margaret in a dry tone, rolling her eyes.

"Can't expect much from a Rêvere of Somnia," said Christopher. "They still execute prisoners by hunt in that part of the world."

"Those were outlawed by the Council many, many years ago," said Nick.

"Not in Somnia," said Morgan, shaking his head. "We don't like to speak of it, but it happens."

"Mother knew," said Margaret. "And Father. He told me to simply look the other way, for there was nothing we could do stop it."

"King Philip and Queen Aurora are members of the Council," said Cornelius. "If… if something was said, I'm sure that the other kingdoms could have done something, anything to stop these _hunts_. Sanctions or something."

Nick shook his head. It was something that had been bothering him for a time now, but he was finally able to begin placing the puzzle pieces together in his mind. His mother had always warned him about King Philip… _trust, but verify when it comes to that one._ And, he had always been uneasy around the man. There had just been something about him…

"Where is Somnia?" he asked. "They aren't here right now, but Ali and Aquaria both stand with us against Pitch, so Agrabah and Atlantica are accounted for. Caspian is still missing, but King Eric still rules in Aquitania. Princess Lucile and Prince Jaq are both likely dead after all that happened in Eléadoré. Sigrun fought alongside my mother in the Imperium, which accounts for Berk and DunBroch. I am Arendelle. Christopher and Margaret are Renvale. Cornelius is Corona and Alyssa is Amoré. _Where is Somnia_?"

"They sent troops to the Imperium," said Morgan, stroking his chin. "I remember you were discussing it with your Aunt Anna."

"A single battalion from Tenebrae," said Cornelius, rolling his eyes. "Of course he'd send them from Queen Aurora's lands as opposed to his own."

"Tenebrae?" asked Christopher, raising an eyebrow. "There has been a lot of dissent in that area for a very long time. The nobles who were loyal to King Stefan and Queen Leah are not as loyal to the man who married their princess while she was still in her cursed sleep and then claimed their little kingdom for his own."

"Tenebrae had no heir save for Aurora," said Margaret. "The crown went to her when Stefan died, and Philip claimed her lands in her name as her husband. The lords there have no love for the Rêveres."

"So… Somnia sent a token force to the warfront comprised of soldiers who hated him," said Nick, and sense emerged from nonsense. "Of course he did."

"There is nobody in all the realm that will be quicker to condemn King Philip than I," said Morgan, and his words were hoarse. "But, we already have more than enough enemies. We don't have proof that he's actively turned against us, and conjecture does us no good."

"He's right," said Cornelius with a nod. "We have enough enemies as it is. Going forward, we should just keep a cautious eye on Somnia in case our suspicions are founded."

Nick nodded, tuning out the remainder of the conversation. There was much and more that still needed to be done, and it was true that unfounded suspicions would get them nowhere. Beneath his cloak, he tightened his fingers around Morgans until his knuckles turned white. His consort replied in turn, and the simple intimacy of their touch was enough to soothe his troubled mind, if only a little. They would endure and deal with what was still to come, just as they had always done. For a long moment, the world faded around him save for the crackling of the fire and Morgan's presence, and when he finally returned to himself, the conversation had long since moved on.

"Come morning, we'll begin the march to Solaris," said Cornelius. "I'm afraid that the City of Corona will not be fit for habitation for a few centuries, at the very least. Besides, it might be for the best to move the capital to an inland city for now. I've already sent word to Savella to have their best clerics meet us there so that mother can be tended to."

"It makes sense," added Alyssa. "The First King of Corona was crowned in Solaris, and it was only a few hundred years ago that the royal court was moved to the city. We're just… returning to the old ways."

"We'll be returning to Arendelle as well," said Nick. "We've been here too long as it is."

"Let's hope that our next visit isn't quite so eventful," said Morgan, rolling his eyes. "What about you, Christopher? Margaret?"

"I meant to stay as long as it took to restore Queen Rapunzel's mind, but to be honest, purging her of the Nightmares is beyond me. I've done what I can and I'm sorry I can't do more, but the clerics of Savella are better suited to the task right now. Jess and I were supposed to return to Agrabah once we were done, but perhaps it would be best to stop in at Aquitania first? I'm sure Mother will want to know that you're alive, Margaret."

"Then we can send her a letter," said Margaret. "If you're needed in Agrabah, we should go straight there. Mother made her bed. Now she gets to die in it."

And, on that happy note, Nick once more tuned out of the conversation.

* * *

"Now she gets to die in it?" asked Christopher, fighting the urge to chuckle as he walked back to his tent with Margaret at his side. "We'll make a poet out of you yet."

His sister didn't reply. Turning, he frowned at the strange look on her face. Was there something stuck in his teeth? Was his hair not combed? He blinked, unsure of himself, but he couldn't help but feel somewhat unsettled by her. The last time he had seen her, she had been a girl of summer, all blonde hair and bright smiles. The Mirror World had changed everything. For him, it had been six months… but for her, she'd been gone nearly three years, if not more. The spell that had been used to free her had scorched her body, burning most of her hair until it was white as bone, and there was a sense of sadness in her eyes that had not been there before.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"You've changed so much since I've been gone," she said, looking up to meet his eyes. "You're so… sure of yourself. You're telling jokes and laughing. When we were around the fire, you fit in with the others as if you'd been friends with them for your entire life. What happened, Christopher? You know my story, but what changed my sweet brother from the boy who was scared of his own shadow into the man you are right now?"

 _I've changed?_ He raised an eyebrow, somewhat perplexed. He didn't see it. At the end of the day, he was still the same Christopher that he'd always been, wasn't he? He still found it difficult to get to know people, and he was still awkward around strangers. He still couldn't dance because he had two left feet, and he was still clumsy with a sword no matter how hard he trained. So much had happened, but he couldn't have changed that much, could he?

"No, I haven't," he said. "I'm still me."

"Yes," his sister agreed. "You're still you. You're just more."

Biting his lip, Christopher didn't know how to react, and he found himself torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. He didn't feel _more._ In his opinion, he was just the one person in the world who somehow had the best luck and the worst luck at the same time. Like, he'd been lucky to survive Amoré, but he'd been unlucky to find himself there in the first place.

Yet, it couldn't have all been luck, could it?

"I've had quite the adventure," he said, gesturing for his tent. Quietly, he led the way, pushing aside the flap so that she could enter ahead of him. Taking a seat on the edge of his cot, he pointed at the chair. As she sat, he reached for the flask he'd carried with him from Agrabah, and he brought it to his lips. The wine was deep and dark, and it was so bitter that the first time he'd tasted it, his face had scrunched up until Ali had fallen out of a chair laughing.

Yet, tonight it went down as easy as water.

"Are you going to share?" asked Margaret, and Christopher frowned.

"You're still a child." Still, he handed it over all the same. She sipped at it with hesitance, and he couldn't keep the smile from his face as her eyes grew wide and she spat it out in a fit of coughs. Tears stung at her eyes, and she gagged.

"You should taste some of what Ali drinks," said Christopher, swallowing his laughter. "I reckon you'll never get the taste out of your mouth."

"To think you say you haven't changed," Margaret replied, still looking at the flask as though it had considered an unforgivable sin. She set it down upon the ground and shook her head in disdain. "Best friends with Prince Ali, the royal rascal himself. Travelling with a witch, and the way you look at her when you think nobody is looking. Friends with the other royals. You haven't even mentioned Pooh since I've been back. So, tell me about your adventure."

"Well, it all began when I tried to sneak out of the castle to visit Priscilla," he began, choosing not to react to her comment, and once the first words left his lips, he found that he simply couldn't stop. He told his sister everything, starting from the beginning and speaking in a rambling jumble of words that would have made no sense to anyone but her, and he didn't stop until he was done. He spoke until his throat was dry and her eyebrows had disappeared behind her fringe, and he kept speaking, leaving nothing out until he had finally reached the morning he'd worked with Morgan and Jessica to rescue her from her prison.

When he was done, Margaret stared with incredulous eyes, and he could almost hear the disbelief that was pouring from her. _Somethings never change, do they?_ Before he could say anything more, however, she was on her feet and approaching him. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, and somehow, the hug told him everything he needed to know.

"I told you," she whispered into his ear. "You're still Christopher. Just more."

He nodded against her shoulder, and it felt good to have her back. They had fought like cats and dogs and avoided each other as often as possible growing up, but they could never change the fact that they were brother and sister. More than anyone in the world, she knew exactly what his childhood had been like, and he knew what hers had been as well. There was a lot of bad between them, but there had been good as well.

In the end, water was sweet, but blood was thicker.

"I'm sorry I wasn't home to protect you when you needed me most," he said.

"If you were, you'd have died or been imprisoned with me," she said. "But, you can promise me one thing."

"And what would that be?" he asked.

"When we reach Agrabah, teach me to fight. I'll likely never be as good as the rest of you… but when Regina took Renvale, I tried to stop her, and I couldn't do a thing. I couldn't protect myself and I couldn't protect my people, and I've never felt so helpless in my life. I never want to feel that way again. I'll never be a soldier. I'll never be Alyssa with her rapier or Aquaria with her trident. I'll likely never be good enough to lead armies and challenge my foes to duels. But, I need to at least be able to protect myself."

"The toys told me what happened," he said. "You were braver than you realize to face Regina armed with nothing but a rake."

"For all the good it did me," she countered.

"I'll teach you," he said. "It won't be easy, and won't go easy on you, but I'll teach you as best I can. And, when I take back Renvale, you'll always have a—"

"When _we_ take back Renvale," she corrected. "I have no intention of sitting around at home and waiting for you to return home from the battlefield."

"Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow. _She's more than changed, hasn't she? She's grown up in that prison._ "And how do you propose we take it back?"

The amusement died in Margaret's eyes, and for the first time that night, she looked completely serious as she rose to her feet and began to pace the room. Biting at her lip, she frowned and twirled her hair between her fingers, something she always did when she was contemplative.

"There is a debt," said Margaret. "An old one owed to our father by Queen Merida. She will have no choice but to repay it if asked. Not for her own honour, but for what our father did for her."

"What debt?" he asked, thrown for a loop. He'd never heard of anything like what his sister was saying, but he had never been included in a lot of what went on in Renvale. _The Prince of Fools, destined to be shipped off as soon as possible to the highest bidder, wasn't that once you said to me, Mother?_

"I don't know. All I do know is what I once overheard by eavesdropping on a conversation between our parents," she said. "I don't even know what was done. But, it's a lead. Queen Merida has not yet involved herself with the war according to the rest of you. Her forces are untouched and ready for battle. Christopher, this could change everything."

"It could," he said in a wary voice. "It certainly could."

* * *

Jessica found him on the beach, sitting with his legs crossed beneath him and the sea-breeze tousling his hair. Without a word, she padded across the damp sand and sank down beside him, and when he made no move to react to her presence, she remained silent. Together, they stared out across the writhing sea. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, it was nice to spend time with him when they weren't sniping at each other.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to hours, and the moon rose above them to cast down its light. The tide ebbed before their eyes, retreating back until dozen of shells were left to glint beneath the stars. _A beautiful place,_ she thought, _I'd have loved to have seen it before it was ruined._

Finally, the long silence stopped being comforting, and it became somewhat infuriating instead. Being here with him was nice and everything, and them not having a go at each other was a nice change of pace, but there was something about riling him up that she lived for. It was the spark of indignation in his eyes and the flash of wit that came as he returned whatever she threw at him, and it was the flush of his cheeks whenever she managed to get one over at him. It was the thrill that had gone through her spine when she'd pinned him to the ground during their sparring session, and it had been the exhilaration that had followed when he'd flipped them over and requested she surrender.

She shook herself, not liking the direction her thoughts were heading in at all. Deciding that the subject needed to be changed, she blurted out the first thing that she could call to mind.

"What would you do if a dragon was about to eat you?"

"I'd call Nick and tell him that Morgan had a case of the munchies," replied Christopher without missing a beat, and then he chuckled. "Where did that even come from?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "The silence was just starting to grate on my nerves."

"I thought you liked it when I kept my mouth shut?" he asked, and she could hear that infuriating note of teasing in his voice.

"No," she replied. "I just think that there are better uses for your mouth than talking."

There it was. Even in the dim light of the moon, she could see the stain of colour on his cheeks as her words sunk in. If she was pretty when she was angry as he liked to say, then he was pretty when he blushed, and Jessica had no problem admitting that to herself.

"I'm sorry that I'm not good company tonight," he said. "It's just been a very long day and I have a lot on my mind."

"A problem shared is a problem halved," she said. "I'm here if you need to talk, you know?"

"I know," he said. "I mean, you drive me absolutely insane, and it's crazy that I know I can count on you, but I know."

This time it was her turn to blush. "Well, tell me how you really feel."

"I just did," he said, turning so that he was looking at her. "And, when am I anything other than completely honest?"

His words hit her like a mailed fist to the gut, and she paused. _Honesty._ Well, he was, wasn't he? It was almost painful how honest Christopher could be, but there was an earnestness to everything he said that stopped it from being pathetic. He didn't hold secrets close to his heart, not like the rest of the world did, and it was the best part of him. _Secrets are walls that keep us alone…_ he'd been the one to tell her that, and it was true.

"I haven't been completely honest with you," she said, looking away. "Or, at least I haven't told you everything."

"Then tell me now," he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. _Maybe it is?_

"My name is not Jessica Grim," she said, holding out her hand. Before their eyes, a droplet of green spread across the back of her hand, and it grew like a rash. As quickly as it had begun, she flicked her wrist, letting her illusion return. "It's Jessica West. My mother is Zelena, Queen of the Emerald City, and I fled because I refused to be wicked like she is. I crossed the Rainbow Bridge and destroyed it behind me so that she could never follow. I'm not from this world. I'm from Oz."

The weight on her chest intensified as she awaited his response, but Christopher looked as though he'd been clubbed over the head. _I knew it._ Jess clenched her fists, wondering what in the world had possessed her to even consider sharing the truth with him when she hadn't even told Ali, who'd been her friend for a lot longer than Chris had. She had been so stupid… _Well, there's always a new place in the world to visit, and there's always another miracle to see. I don't need to stay where I'm—_

"Oz isn't real," he said. "Is this another joke? You're going to have to try a bit harder, Jess. Everyone knows that Oz is just a fairytale."

She blinked. That was not the reaction she'd been expecting, and her temper spiked. She jabbed him in the chest, narrowing her eyes.

"You are literally Prince Charming," she said in an unamused voice.

"Yes, but the Prince Charming stories are _history_ ," he countered, rubbing at his chest where she'd hit him. "Oz isn't real. It can't be. Somebody would have said something or written a book about it or something."

She opened her mouth to argue, and then she saw it. The twinkle in his eye and the slight curve of his lips as he hid his smile, and the barely-there twitch of his cheek as he tried to hold in his laugh. _Bastard!_ She leapt onto him, pummelling him his chest with her clenched fists and he went down with a gasp. As he hit the sand, he burst out laughing, and it only served to infuriate her more.

"I've never told a soul before," she said with a scowl. "You were the first person I trusted with where I'm from, and that's your response?"

She raised her hands again, and quick as snakes, his hands darted forward to close around her wrists and stop her assault. As though a switch had flipped in him, the mirth faded away and he looked at her with an unfathomable expression on his face. He sat up with her still on him, and alarm bells sounded in her mind as she realized she was sitting on his lap.

"I've seen your skin turn green before," he whispered. "You use runes, which isn't a style of magic in this world. You have violet eyes, which don't exist in this world either. I'll be the first to admit I'm a little slow on the uptake, but I'm not a fool. I've known for a while now."

"And you never said anything?" she replied, her voice as low as his. Something fluttered in her chest. Acting on instinct, she leaned in to rest her brow against his. Christopher's cheek blazed so red she could feel the heat emanating off him, and as she stared into his hazel eyes, she was afraid she'd get lost within them.

"What was there to say? You're Jess, and that's all that mattered to me."

Something snapped within her and she leaned in, closing the gap between their lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she kissed him. Her fingers tangled in his hair as his hands fell to rest upon the small of her back, and it was simple piece of pure perfection in the middle of a world long gone mad. Then, the kiss deepened to an almost bruising intensity, and she hooked her legs around his back, losing herself in him as she had never lost herself before.

With shocking suddenness, the kiss broke as a dozen screams tore through the night. Jess pushed herself free of Christopher in a heartbeat, and dark shapes flashed through the sky above them. They were like darkened meteorites, black and smooth as glass, and when they struck the ground they shattered into a thousand inky shards. From the camp, she could see fires blazing and the sounds of soldiers running, and suddenly, the sky itself lit up as a funnel of green flame burst forth from the ground.

"That's Morgan," muttered Christopher, taking off at a sprint towards the camp. "And those are…"

"Mirror Men," said Jessica, taking off after him. "Regina sends her regards."

* * *

The Mirror Men were everywhere. Margaret rushed through the sea of tents, keeping to the shadows as much as possible to avoid the fighting. She was not a fighter, and these things were not human. Shards of broken glass stung her feet as she sprinted over the grass, following the dragon's roars and the spires of ice. There wasn't much love lost between her and them, but she couldn't deny that wherever they were would be the safest place in which to weather this storm.

Something slammed into her side and she went flying, a shriek escaping her lips as she hit the ground. Turning, her eyes grew wide as she caught sight of the Mirror Man approaching her. He was taller than any man could be and made from blackened glass. He didn't have any fingers, for his arms ended in two jagged blades, and there was an empty burning were his eyes should be. Biting her lip, she scrambled around the ground in search of something, anything, that she could use to defend herself.

Her hands closed upon the handle of a cast iron skillet, ands he brought it up just in time to deflect the killing blow. Glass shattered, showering her in black shards, and the force of the impact sent a jolt down her arms which nearly rendered them numb. Gasping for breath, she took advantage of the momentary advantage and got to her feet, swinging the skillet as hard as she could against the Mirror Man's side.

The man shattered, but as quickly as he fell, he began to reform. _Well, that isn't good…_ Spinning around, Margaret began to run again. The muscles in her legs burned, and she was short of breath—the Mirror World had robbed her off what strength she had, and she was already beginning to slow. The Mirror Man was gaining on her.

"Get down," yelled Nicholas, and Margaret threw herself to the ground as a large icicle shot through the air. It impaled the Mirror Man, shattering him, and ice burst from the ground to freeze the shards in place.

Her breath coming in ragged pants, Margaret got to her feet and stumbled towards her savior, mumbling her thanks as she did so. He nodded before stepping forward, his staff outstretched, and he gestured for her to stay behind him. Ice burst from his staff as he engaged the attacking forces, and Margaret shuddered at the sight of them. Their numbers seemed limitless, and even as Nicholas froze them, more rained down from the sky.

Across from them, a strange creature laid about the Mirror Men. It was half-wolf and half-woman, and its russet fur was drenched in blood. Margaret's eyes widened as she noticed the archer fighting beside her, nocking arrow after arrow and sending them whizzing into the flanks. _King Cornelius_ … but if that was him, then that creature was? Margaret shuddered. It would seem that every barbed insult she'd thrown Alyssa's way over the years about her beastly nature had been more on the nose than she'd ever realized.

Then, a loud roar tore through the night, and Morgan swooped down over them all, bathing an entire column of Mirror Men in his flames. They disintegrated, and they did not return. As quickly as he come, he was climbing into the sky again, moving to make another pass over the camp. _Between them all, Regina's forces don't stand a chance… she must have known this._

The gears turned in Margaret's mind. She was not a fighter or a sorceress or a tactician, but she knew people well enough. Regina's scheme to seize Renvale had taken years, and she had carefully plotted out every move she'd made. Christopher surviving Amoré had been the only reason the plot had not been completely successful, but to be perfectly honest, who could have expected him to?

No, a reckless assault from the front was not Regina's way. There was something else at play here tonight, but for the life of her, Margaret could not figure out what it was.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a burst of purple light. A large rune appeared in the air, raining down bullets of magical energy which obliterated the Mirror Men, and beneath the rune stood Jessica, her face screwed up in concentration. Christopher stood beside her with a spear in his hand, keeping the Mirror Men who approached them at bay. Then, a chunk of glass hurtled through the air and struck Jessica in the back of the head. Her eyes widened and she let out a grunt as she collapsed to the ground, feebly twitching. Above her, the rune flickered and vanished, and the Mirror Men stormed Christopher.

 _No!_ Desperately, Margaret looked around for someone, anyone, who could assist. Yet, Nicholas was maintaining a furious assault upon the western half of the camp, keeping the Mirror Men from flanking them. Alyssa and Cornelius were locked in combat, both fighting for their lives, and Morgan was all the way across camp, breathing his flames across the enemies there.

Tightening her grip upon her skillet, Margaret began to run. Ahead of her, Christopher spun his spear in his hand like a bo-staff, jabbing out whenever an enemy got to close, and his eyes were narrowed. There were too many of them for him to fight alone without magic, and for some reason, Margaret knew that her brother's brand of magic wouldn't work on these things.

She jumped as she neared him, bringing the skillet down upon the head of the Mirror Man in front of her. It shattered, the pieces burying themselves, but the pieces were already reforming. Then, a bolt of golden light burst from Christopher's hand, swirling around the shards. The black seeped from them and they stopped moving, and before Margaret's eyes, she watched as they turned back to normal pieces of glass.

"What in Tsar Luna's name are you doing?" asked Christopher as she moved to stand with her back to his, holding her skillet as if it was an axe.

"Not letting you die," she replied. "Hit them with that spell again."

"Can't," he replied. "My magic purifies. It doesn't kill. Break them and I purge the pieces."

She swallowed. _There are dozens of them._ She was not a fighter, and the only way she'd been able to take out two of them so far had been the element of surprise. She didn't have that anymore. Yet, what other choice did she have? Raising her skillet, she narrowed her eyes.

Then, the Mirror Men were upon them, and she lost track of all else but the need to survive. She spun and she ducked and she swung, and they shattered around her, one after another. Blood poured from a dozen cuts, and the world itself became a blur. Her bones ached and her skin split, but she refused to back down. Not now. Not ever. A sword struck her and then another, but she barely felt them in her fury, and she returned the attacks tenfold.

As quickly as it had begun, it came to an end, and the Mirror Men stilled. Like smoke in the wind, they vanished, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she watched them go. _We won._ Turning, she smiled at Christopher. He was bruised and bloodied and his left arm hung at an awkward angle, but he was alive. They were alive and they'd survived, yet why was his expression so torn?

Why did he look horrified?

Why was he running towards her?

Margaret looked down, and her eyes grew wide as she took in the chunk of glass buried deep within her gut. She barely felt it. Reaching out to try and pull it free, she lost her balance and fell, and warm arms grabbed her before she hit the ground. Blood pumped from her wound, pooling around them, and she bit her lip.

"Margaret," Christopher yelled, shaking her. There were tears streaming down his face to fall onto hers, and they were warm. So warm against the cold creeping across her limbs. "Margaret, stay with me."

"It's sorry," she whispered. Her words slurred, and black spots danced around her vision. Above them, the moon grew full before her eyes. Odd, those beams of moonlight. It almost looked like they were reaching down for her.

"You're not dying, Margaret," Christopher insisted, and his voice was hysterical. "You are not dying."

"You've grown… too much… to believe that," she whispered, her eyes falling shut as the strength poured from her along with her blood. "I… it was good to see you again, one last time."

"Margaret," he screamed. "Margaret! Wake up. Wake up!"

Yet, she did not move. Her chest was still, neither rising nor falling, and she died in her brother's arms with his tears upon her face. The moonbeams caressed her, engulfing her body, and a calm voice echoed in her ears as she felt her spirit ascend from the mortal plane. Her corpse remained as an empty husk, and her spirit floated in the air, eyes closed, wreathed in the light of the moon.

The dust was washed from her, and her bloodied dress faded to be replaced by the garb of a wayfarer. Feathers burst from her back, grey and soft as the wings of a goose, and a tiara of starlight formed across her brow. From the skies above, a staff and leather-bound book descended to rest upon her chest.

" _Rise,"_ the voice commanded. " _Rise and awaken, Margaret Katherine Charming, Princess of Renvale, as the Guardian of Stories."_


	44. Tides of Wrath

.

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Eight**

 **Tides of Wrath**

* * *

Pitch ghosted across the waves, the tips of his boots skimming the surface as he approached the lone island. The sea breeze was cool, so terribly cool, and the night was as still as a tomb. Palm trees rose from white beaches, but if there was one place in this world that gave him pause, this was it. Above, the moon gave him warning as well, but he ignored that as well. It was what had to be done. All of this was inevitable.

" _Kozmotis,"_ a familiar voice whispered in his mind. " _This is madness."_

"Begone," replied Pitch, raising a hand to the sky. The clouds swirled, black and heavy, until they obscured the moon.

If this was to be the end of all, then he could not hesitate, no matter the cost. The winds grew colder still, and Pitch took a shuddering breath. He looked down into the still waters, and he could see images of days long since forgotten within his rippling reflection. Tsar Luna, glorious in his youth and armed, and Nightlight, brighter than even the stars. Pan, as wild as ever and armed with his dagger, and Tsarina Stella, her hair burning like molten gold as she nocked arrow after arrow into her bow. Standing beside them all, he stood against the army of Fearlings and Shadow Creatures, resplendent in his golden armor… _Kozmotis Pitchiner…_ That had been his name once, long ago, during the Age of Dawn.

And, when the war was won, it had been he who had asked to guard their prison. He had stood vigil over their prison for an eternity, alone in the darkness with only a picture of his girls to warm him, and he had done it without question. For centuries and then millennia, he had been the gaoler of the damned, and what had the other given him in return?

Nothing. They had forgotten him in the darkness. They had gone on with their immortal lives, building worlds and shaping the course of destiny without him. He had bled beside them, fought beside them, and sacrificed for them, and in the end, he had been left with nothing.

Pitch shook his head. It was not like him to reminisce, but this place was different. _She_ was near. He could feel _her_ presence, and it opened a dozen old wounds.

She was very old, almost as old as Tsar Luna and himself, yet she would never raise a hand against him. For the longest part of eternity, neither could he. She had as many names as there winds, and as many titles as there were stars in the sky. The Aquitanians called her Gaea, and in Agrabah they knew her as Dhat-Badan. In DunBroch, she was Nantosuelta; in Arendelle she was Fjörgyn; and to the people of the Lost Islands, she was Te Fiti. Mother Nature, Earth Mother, Goddess of Nature, Lady of the Wild… the list went on and on and on. Yet in the end, Pitch knew her by only the name he'd given her.

Emily Jane, a girl born amidst the stars whose wild heart had her driven mother to furious tears and been the sole source of joy in her father's eternal life.

He drew closer to the island, and the sea rose to block his path. It was a wall that soared nearly a hundred feet in the air, and the current surged through it. _Dearest Emily,_ he thought, raising a hand. _You learned all your tricks from me._ With a single wave of his hand, he dispelled the barrier and continued on his way. When he reached the shore, it was deserted, as was the village. A shame… for all the power she had, her heart was her greatest weakness. There was a priestess upon this island whose strength was fabled throughout the world: Lady Moana, who commanded the tides themselves.

The priestess was not here to face him. A pity. He had almost been looking forward to finally facing her. It would have been a good fight.

Alone, Pitch began to walk towards the temple at the centre of the island. Emily was there, and it was likely that she had called her people to take shelter behind her. _So human…_ It had been her choice, though, had it not? _Sweet Emily, who turned her back on them all to live amongst mankind instead._ His corrupted dream sand swirled at his feet. Like tentacles, it slithered into the jungle, warping the flora and fauna to his whims. Trees wilted and leaves turned to dust, grass shrivelled and bushes withered. The animals screamed as they were twisted, their forms growing mutated with his darkness.

Then, he arrived, and he found himself leaning upon his scythe for support. _She_ was so near that it hurt. The temple was a simple one, all vine-covered stone and crumbling fountains, but it was so very her that it stung at his eyes. Shaking his head to steel himself, he raised a hand, and the doors burst open. He could wait no longer.

Emily awaited him upon her throne, and she was as beautiful today as she had been on the day she was born. Her hair was long and black, and her skin was as pale as the moon. Her eyes were green, drenched in chlorophyll, and they gleamed with the light of the stars. As he looked at her, he saw her faces and her masks, each and every one of them: Te Fiti, Gaea, Mother Nature, Terra, Fjörgyn, Tonantzin, Prithvi, Ninhursag… from oaken face to the stone facade, from eyes that were lakes to hair that was luxuriant ivy, she changed before his eyes.

Then, she was Emily again, and her expression was impassive.

"I knew you would come eventually," she said.

"And yet you did not try to hide from me," he replied. "Of all people, you alone could have kept me searching for a thousand years if you tried." It was the truth. This world was her domain, from land to sea to sky and all the hidden places in-between.

"You would have found me eventually," she said. "At least this way we meet on my terms."

He sighed and waved a hand through the air. Behind her, the people crumbled into ash, the illusion revealed. Pitch knew her, and if she had known he was coming, she would have never kept her people home. Even now, he wondered if they had made it. With Ursula pushing from one side and Aquaria from the other, the sea was more treacherous than it had ever been.

"My daughter," he said, meeting her eyes. "It did not have to be this way."

"Didn't it?" asked Emily. "You are a creature of dust and spite. You carry with you a thousand Fearlings, festering within your rotted heart. All you touch turns to ash. It is not nature's way. You are an abhorrent abomination upon this world. How Mother would weep to see what you have become beneath the stain of time."

"If I repulse you, then why have you never stood against me?" he asked.

"It was never my place, Father," she replied. "War creates devastation and destruction, and my power preserves and nourishes. I can no more fight than you can make peace."

She rose from her throne and approached him, leaves falling from her hair. Her skirts rained petals as she walked, and she reached up to cup his cheek. Her hand was warm, so very warm, and he was so cold that frost crept along her fingers. Green light glimmered at her fingertips, and he gasped, doubling over at the rush of feeling which poured through his very being. Emotion and memory… Pitch shuddered. She had touched him with her spark, the treacherous child, imbuing him with but an ember of the flame of life. To one such as he, there was no greater pain in all the worlds.

He had taught her well.

"I cannot destroy you," she said, and her eyes were chips of flint. "But I can make you feel again."

He lashed out and blood spurted from her lips as his fist tore through her skin. She gritted her teeth, glaring at him as his fingers closed around her beating heart. A tear stung at his eyes as he watched her life ebb within his grasp, and a thousand voices screamed out in his mind. This feeling… this pain… _love was weakness,_ he knew, which was why he had cast it aside all those millennia ago.

Then, the turmoil was gone, and he felt a smile curl across his lips.

"Oh, Emily," he whispered. "You cannot thaw a heart that no longer exists."

Her eyes widened, and he yanked back his hand. She slumped to the ground, still and unmoving, and around her, the world itself began to wilt. Pitch turned away, unwilling to gaze upon her any longer, and he stared at the gleaming green gem in his hand: The Heart of Mother Nature. Its light was dimming, and without its light, the world soon follow.

Raising his fingers, he swirled them around the gem as he walked back to the shore, letting his corrupted dream sand soak into the Heart, and it burned a brilliant red. Fine cracks appeared around it. With a snap of his fingers, the shadows swirled beside the shore, forming a portal, and Ursula emerged.

"Take this," he said simply, handing her the Heart. "And make an end of Atlantica."

Ursula cackled, throwing back her head in delight as she claimed the gem, and she nodded in understanding. She seemed about to say something, but Pitch was not in the mood. Waving his hand, the shadows pulled her away, and he settled down upon the beach. Mold and corruption seeped from the temple, and the deep cracks appeared across the shore. They would spread in time.

"I am so grateful you are not here to see this, Joy," he said, hanging his head. Yet, it had to be done. This was the end of all.

* * *

"Thank you, Delphine," said Caspian, running a hand over the dolphin's back. "We would have... have never made it... it without your help."

"You are most welcome, Prince Caspian, and you as well, Princess Lucile," replied Delphine, eliciting a series of shrill squeaks to all ears but theirs. "We have all been worried about your safety."

 _A lie,_ he thought, _but a sweet lie nonetheless._ Beside him, Lucile patted the dolphin on the snout once more, treading water while it chittered at her. The words were lost on him, however. _If they worried, they'd have searched for me._ It was the truth, harsh as it may be, but he had taught his family to expect the worst from him. Finally, the dolphin turned and swam off, flicking its tail in farewell as it did so.

"Nice fellow," said Lucile, watching him go. "How do you know him?"

"He was my... my mother's messenger," Caspian replied. "Every morning before the... the dawn, my father would come to... to the shore and Delphine would be... be waiting with a... a letter for him from Mother. He'd have one... one for her as well."

"That seems awfully romantic considering everything else you've said about her," said Lucile.

"She was... was a harsh woman," said Caspian. "But she loved us all in her own way."

Reaching for her hand, he propelled himself forward with his tail. Delphine had helped them make the swim from the shores of Eléadoré, but he was tired all the same, and he could only imagine how weary Lucile was. If she was exhausted, however, she did not show it, and her eyes were bright and alert as she let him steer her towards the familiar beach. _Home…_ the sight of Aquitania filled Caspian with both dread and relief, because it had always been his place. As a boy, he'd built sandcastles on those shores, and as a man, he'd frequented every tavern and bar from this end of the harbor to the upper districts of the city.

The water grew shallow, and his tail began to shift into legs as he prepared to make landfall. The ocean had rejuvenated him, and his scars were all but healed, but the wounds were still there. Lucile knew them as well as he did, and in the end, she was the only one who did.

When he reached the shore, he could have wept at the feel of the warm sand beneath his feet. His clothes were drenched, and he shook himself like a dog.

"It's been a very long time since I visited Aquitania," said Lucile, wringing the skirts of her dress to dry them.

"Then would you... you care for... for a royal escort to the... the palace?" he asked, extending her his hand. His fingers trembled as she accepted, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. _It's just Lucile,_ he told himself, and it hurt that he had to remind himself. She had seen him at his worst when he'd been bleeding and broken on the floor, when he'd begged her to kill him, and she'd loved him then.

"I would love that," she said, the faint ghost of a smile crossing her lips.

They walked in silence thereafter, ignoring the looks cast their way. Caspian knew what they looked like. He was dressed in shredded rags that were hanging together by a few seams, and his hair was a mess. The red roots had grown out to his ears, and the black dye coated only the tips. Lucile's dress was more brown than white, and it had been ripped almost to the waist during their fight with Damon, exposing most of her leg whenever she took a step. Her hair was a tangled nest upon her head, and there were bruises upon her cheeks.

He was a prince and she was a princess, but they looked like two dishevelled urchins as they climbed the stairs towards the castle. He paused near the gates, his throat growing dry as a bone as he took in the tall towers of his castle and the black banners hanging from them. _They still mourn as I do…_

As he approached the gate, the guards moved to block his path. He did not recognise them, which surprised him. On the night he'd been taken, Old Matthias had been on duty, stroking his beard and minding his business as he'd done since Caspian had been a boy. These guards, however, where strangers to him. _Human, not merfolk_ , he realized, glancing at their legs and noting the lack of scales. One was tall and blond, the other broad and built like an ox, and they regarded him with matching looks of utmost suspicion. He raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding, and then he burst out laughing despite everything. Lucile looked at him as though he was mad, and perhaps he was, but the ridiculousness of the situation did not escape him in the least. The guards' expressions narrowed and they crossed their spears, barring him from stepping further, and his laughter increased tenfold.

"Listen, you are not welcome here, street rats," said the guard on the left. "We'll be having no riffraff in the palace."

Caspian opened his mouth to reply, to say something, to say anything, but he couldn't quite find the words. He was being barred from his own home by strangers, and he had not a shred of proof to back up any claims he could make. His father would recognise him, and so would Aquaria… but the rest, especially those who were new?

"Let him through," said a frigid voice, and the laughter died in Caspian's chest as quickly as it had come. Stiff as a board, he turned, the trembles returning as he caught sight of his sister making her way towards the palace.

"Aquaria," he whimpered.

"That is Queen Aquaria to you, Caspian," she said, her eyes hard as steel. Without another word, she passed him by along with her retinue, making her way towards the castle without so much as a glance in his direction.

He watched after her, unable to process a thing. _Scream at me_ , he wanted to yell. _Punch me, kick me, stick me with that bloody trident. Do something!_ Yet, no words could escape his lips. He had expected a frosty reception upon his homecoming, but not like this. _A year ago, she'd have beaten me within an inch of my life and then offered me a hand back up._ He'd have given as good as he'd got, of course, but that was just how it had always been between them.

She'd never looked at him as if he was lower than the mud in the city gutters, and she'd never spoken to him in a voice so cold that it gouged him to the bone.

Lucile rested a hand on his forearm, and he shuddered, still staring after his sister.

"Well," said Lucile. "You heard the Queen. Let us through."

The guards glanced at each other before moving their spears aside, and Caspian was dimly aware of Lucile guiding him forward.

* * *

Aquaria was angry.

No, she had long since stopped being angry. She had been angry when Caspian took off, and she had been angry when Ursula had started the war for the seas. She had been angry when her brother had missed their mother's last rites and she had been angry when her entire world had fallen to pieces around her. But, for him to show his face now, looking like a bedraggled rat with some new hussy on his arm…

She clenched her fist. Against the advice of her council, she had travelled to Aquitania to see her father and ask for his guidance. The final battle was drawing ever closer. She could feel it in her bones, and he had defeated the Sea Witch in the past. Even with the trident, she was not as powerful and not as experienced as Ursula was, and it had been only through the sheer force of her will that she had held on as long as she had.

She'd needed Caspian with her, dammit, and where had he been when the outlying villages had been sacked? Where had he been when the old terrors of the sea had been roused to fight against her; when the kraken and the hydra and all those other fell beasts had marched on her kingdom and murdered her people? Her brother was the storm just as she was the sea, and she'd needed his help.

Where had he been?

She paused in her march towards her father's solar, and she shook her head. Apathy towards him would do her no good, not now when her back was against the wall. It was very likely that the next time she swam to battle, she would be swimming to her death, and she refused to die without saying her peace.

"Leave me," she said, dismissing her guard with a wave of her hand. "I have private business to attend to."

The bowed and stepped away, and she changed her direction. Instead of heading for the king's tower, she stormed towards the west wing where her brother had his quarters, and her expression must have been a terrifying sight considering the looks on the faces of all those she passed on her way. Finally, she reached his door, and she didn't bother knocking. If he was in bed with that woman, whoever she was, then she'd shame him for that as well.

Throwing open the door with such force that it almost burst off its hinges, Aquaria stormed into the room. Her brother whirled from where he stood beside the window, eyes wide and terrified, and he did something that surprised her. Caspian cowered, backing away from her with pure terror in his eyes. Still clad in his rags, the bundle of fresh clothes fell from his hands to fall upon the floor. The woman sat huddled in the window seat, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. The taps were running in the bathroom. Aquaria could hear them.

"Where have you been?" she hissed, slamming the butt of the trident onto the ground as she spoke, amplifying her voice so that it echoed throughout the room.

"Aquaria… please," said Caspian, raising his hands in surrender. "I can... can explain."

Flinging down the trident, she marched across the room until she was just a few inches away from him, and she grabbed him by the collar. Lifting him off his feet, she slammed him into the wall behind him, and the woman shrieked. Caspian groaned, but something had changed. He wasn't fighting back like he always did. Instead, he just stared at her with a hollow look in his eyes, as though he was just waiting for her to attack. _What happened to him?_ For the first time since she'd set eyes upon him at the castle gates, she paused to look at him, to truly look at him, and she didn't like what she saw in the slightest. His torso was covered in faded scars, and there were healed cuts upon his legs. Those… they could be explained easily enough.

The look in his eyes, however, that could not.

"Explain," she said through gritted teeth. "And it had better be a—"

"Put him down, Aquaria," said a steely voice behind her, and Aquaria froze at the feel of cold steel against her throat. _That voice sounds familiar..._

"Lucile, no," said Caspian in a choked voice.

This time it was Aquaria's turn to recoil in shock and in her surprise, she let go of her brother. _That girl is Lucile Charmant?_ It made no sense. The more she learned, the less she knew, and it was quickly becoming ridiculous. How in the world had her brother found himself in the company of the Princess of Eléadoré? What the hell had happened to him in the first place? How in the world had the meekest princess in the entire realm found the gall to threaten a queen?

"I let him go," said Aquaria in a stiff voice. "Remove your blade, Lucile."

Lucile removed the knife before dropping to her knees beside Caspian, wrapping one arm around him as she kept a firm grip on the handle of her weapon with the other. Her eyes glimmered, narrowed and hard as chips of flint, and Aquaria took a step back in surprise. Something was amiss, but it did not change the fact that her brother had abandoned them all in the first place… no matter what had happened after, the fault still lay at his feet.

"Go on," said Aquaria, glaring down at the two of them. "Where did you run off to, Caspian?"

Caspian flinched. "Didn't run… Aquaria. He took me. I was… was kidnapped. That night after I... I fought with Ali in the tavern. I was drunk... drunk and angry and upset, and I... I went for a walk on the beach to… to clear my head. He was... was waiting for me. I tried to run. I tried... tried to scream, but he was too strong. I'm... I'm sorry. I... I didn't run. I didn't."

"Who took you?" asked Aquaria, biting her lip.

Her anger was fading, much as she would rather it didn't. _He didn't abandon us?_ Could she trust his word, though? Her first instinct was to scoff at what could very well be the theatrics that Caspian had always used to pull the wool over their mother's eyes, but there was too much that didn't make sense if her brother was lying.

"He took me... me to Hamelin. He used his... his magic to ensnare my mind," said Caspian, and there was no tone to his voice. He was speaking without feeling, and Lucile was holding him as if his life depended on her embrace. Yet, Aquaria's chest had grown tighter than a vice. _Hamelin. No… No…_

"He put me in... in chains," continued Caspian, still in that same listless voice. His words were steadier than they had been when he'd begun, but there was no emotion behind them. If anything, that was all the worse. "He peeled the... the scales from my legs. He forced potions down my... my throat that gave me hideous visions. He tortured me from... from dawn to dusk, and he forced me... me to serve his every desire."

 _No… Caspian…_

"He sent me to... to capture Lucile for him. I didn't want to. I... I tried to fight his... his commands, so he locked me in... in a room filled with blazing fireplaces. He didn't let... let me out until I stopped fighting. I... I kidnapped her. I brought her... her to Hamelin. His power didn't work on... on her. He didn't stop... stop torturing me. I was less... less than a... a dog to him. He threatened to... to give me to the dogs."

Caspian shuddered, curling closer to Lucile's side, and Aquaria could feel the world swimming around her. She staggered to the table and leaned against it, gasping for breath as her brother's words sank in. _Tsar Luna…_ He had been taken. He hadn't abandoned them. _He needed me to rescue him. My baby brother. My stupid, vain, reckless baby brother…_ She scowled, trembling with rage.

"How did you escape?" she asked, her knuckles white.

"Lucile… Damon tried… he… he…"

"He asked Caspian to do to me what Damon had done to him," said Lucile, her voice strained. "Caspian drove a fork into his own leg to break the allure's compulsion. It was not the first time. Damon left for a meeting with Lady Tremaine, but he left orders with Caspian before leaving."

"He… asked me to… to… I didn't want to. I begged her to... to kill me instead. I tied my... my... my ankle to a pillar to... to stop myself, and I begged. I... I wanted to die rather than be a… be a…"

"The curse broke soon after and we escaped. Damon came after us, and we fought on the shores of Eléadoré. He died screaming," concluded Lucile, running a hand down his arm as if to calm him.

 _Good._ There was little else that she could think. She had never had an easy relationship with her brother, and there was a lot of bitterness buried between, but he was _still_ her brother. The only person in the world who got to mess with, _the only person,_ was her. Nobody else.

"Good," said Aquaria. "He should count his blessings that I never had a chance to lay hands upon him. He should count his blessings indeed."

 _Hamelin… he was in Hamelin._ Was this the Queen she had become? So ready to believe the worst in people that she had unwittingly left her brother to fight for his life in a monster's den? The horrors he had endured… he hadn't gone into much detail, but what he had said told her more than she needed to know.

"Caspian," said Aquaria. "I will ask this once and only once, just so that we both are clear on what happened to you in Hamelin. How bad was it?"

Caspian flinched, and it was all the answer she needed. Rage bubbled up inside her, and as her brother nodded, she approached him. Holding up her empty hands to show him that she meant no harm, she knelt, and she reached out to take his free hand in hers.

"You are alive," she said. "You will survive this. I know this because whatever you have been and whatever you have done, you are my brother and you are a child of the sea. He tried to destroy you, to strip you of your pride and your strength, but those things can never be taken from you, not by anyone. Not now and not ever."

Caspian met her eyes, and her heart broke at the hopeless expression he wore. His hands trembled, and he leaned deeper into Lucile's side, but his lips quivered upwards, just a little, for just a second.

"Thank you, Aquaria," he whispered, and she reached out to pull him into a hug.

He flinched away from her, and she pulled back as though stung. Closing her eyes to gather her composure, she rose to her feet and turned away. Her brother needed to rest and take what comforts he could, and it was clear that she was not going to be the one who could give it to him.

 _He needed me… and I was happy to think the worst of him instead._

* * *

Her father's study had once been a place of wonder for her. The walls were lined with shelves, each laden with treasures earned from King Eric's many voyages. A silver sextant sat beside a compass and a spyglass. There were crystal figurines from Corona and jade idols from the Imperium, a ship in a bottle from the glassblowers of Amoré, and a set of small painted rocks from the Troll Village of Arendelle. In his youth, her father had sailed as far as the North Pole, seat of the Guardian of Wonder, and as far south as the Pride Lands.

He'd brought back a lion pelt from that voyage, Aquaria remembered. It had become the rug at the foot of her parents' bed.

He was a strong man, her father, but grief and illness were doing what the sea itself could not. Those arms which had once steered his flagship, _Wrath,_ to half-a-hundred naval battles had grown almost spindly in comparison, and his thick hair and beard were streaked with grey. He was not quite fifty, but he could well pass for seventy at a glance. When she'd been a girl, he'd been able to throw her into the air and catch her as she'd giggled. _Can he lift me still?_ She didn't think so.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, taking a seat across his desk from him.

"It comes and goes," replied her father, running a hand across his stomach. "The crabs pinch at me within, and the clerics have found blood in my coughs. It will not be very long now."

"You've been saying that for a year," she said.

"I have," he replied. "I feel spread thin, Aquaria, yet I couldn't rest while you fought on and Caspian was so far away. The captain goes down with his ship, and my ship has always been my kingdom. I still have strength enough to fight this last war for you and your brother."

Her heart ached at his words, but there was not much she could say. Her father would have sailed to the Imperium with her mother if the sickness had not plagued him, but while he had not fought upon those shores with her, he'd died alongside her all the same.

"I am losing the war," admitted Aquaria. "The outlying cities have fallen. My armies are decimated. Even now, Ursula bears down upon Atlantica itself. Sir Urchin is seeing to the defense, but… she's strong, Father. She's stronger than she was when you faced her."

"Aye, she may be," said Eric. "But you are stronger than your mother was when we faced Ursula as well."

Yet, Ursula did not stand alone. She had raised the ancient beasts of the sea from they had slumbered: the kraken and the leviathan, the hydra and the naga. Of all those, it was the naga who troubled her most. They had been merfolk, once upon a time, but had grown mutated by dark magic and corruption. The snake-people, her soldiers called them, and it was the most accurate description she could find.

Worse still was the sludge. A consuming, sticky blackness that was slick as oil and foul as carrion; it crept along the ocean floor and devoured all it touched. All that remained in its wake was crumbling bones and ash-white sand. She spent more of her time erecting barriers to keep it from striking Atlantica than she did actually fighting, but…

She sighed.

Aquaria was a warrior princess born, but she was tired. Her mother had died and she had scarcely picked up the trident before the war had erupted across the seas, and her brother… She did not want to think of Caspian right now. It had been easier to hate him for being a coward. Now that the truth had come out, it gnawed at her like one more mouth to the hungry beast which consumed her. _Is this the price for my sin?_

"If I could, I would scour her from the seas for you," said Eric, reaching out to grasp her hand. "I am sorry that you must bear this burden, Aquaria. In this, your mother and I have failed you. Our wars should have never been yours."

She didn't know what to say. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to admit, but the words didn't make sense upon her tongue. They were strange and garbled, twisted beyond measure. _This price. This war. These sins._

"I will return to the seas tomorrow," she finally said. Her voice was steel. "You must prepare the city for refugees. I will not allow my civilians to die while the city burns around them."

"Of course. It may be for the best that you withdraw your armies as well. If the state of affairs is as dire as you claim, perhaps you should make your stand upon the shores of—"

"I will not run from her." Aquaria's voice grew harsher. Rising to her feet, she masked her features into an impassive mask. "Mother ruled for decades at great personal cost. I will not see her legacy come undone to save my own skin."

Without waiting for her father to reply, she left the room, all but slamming the door behind her. The Voices of the Deep echoed in her ears, and she bit her lip. The coming fight would be grievous indeed, and though she was a warrior princess, her strength would not suffice on its own. Yet, where else was she to turn? Caspian? No, her brother was a broken shell of himself. She could not drag him into this mess. Ali? Underwater, her consort would be as useful as a bucket full of holes. She sighed. She didn't want to think about him right now. Whenever she closed her eyes to sleep, she could still see the knife descending, and she could still hear the child screaming as it was torn from her. _And Ali as well, slick with sweat upon his bed of blood._ In her dreams, she saw that fateful night again and again.

Aquaria Starshells had buried her mother and her son. Her brother was a wreck. Her father was dying. Her consort was half-a-world away. She would not, could not, lose her kingdom as well.

* * *

That night, Lucile found herself wandering the castle, unable to sleep. She padded across the carpeted halls, dark rings beneath her eyes. She was tired in more ways than one. She had bathed, washing the grime from her body and hair, and she was dressed in fresh clothes that were far more comfortable than the dress she had worn for the past several weeks. She had been fed a warm meal and she had a soft bed to return to, but try as she might, she could not sleep, not even with Caspian's skinny arms around her.

It was odd to share a bed with another man, especially as she was a princess, but it was different for them. During their flight from Hamelin, the two of them had spent all their nights together, too afraid to light a fire in case they were seen. They'd huddled close to keep warm, and they'd taken comfort in knowing that the other was there. Caspian… he quailed at the touch of his own sister, but he never balked from her.

They were both broken by the shadows of Hamelin, but at least they had each other.

She walked through the halls, passing the anchors and other seafaring regalia decorating the walls. Aquitania was a rustic castle, she knew, far removed from the elegant palaces of her homeland. The people of Aquitania were of the sea, and it reflected in all they built, from their canals to their fleet to the driftwood beams spanning the ceilings.

Jaq would have loved this city, she knew. Quickly, she dismissed the thoughts of him from her mind. She would begin making her plans to rescue him soon, but tonight… no, tonight there was too much on her mind for her to consider that which she couldn't change.

"I didn't think you'd be awake so late," said a voice, and she looked up in surprise. Queen Aquaria walked down the stairs, a wan smile upon her face, and Lucile inclined her head in response. Technically, they were off the same rank, but her kingdom was lost to her, and she had never been crowned. In reality, a true queen would always remain above a rightful one.

"I could not sleep," said Lucile. "It has been a long few… well, forever, really. It feels that way at any rate."

"There's much on my mind as well," replied Aquaria. "I've already stayed here too long. It's not wise to leave Atlantica in these troubled times."

"I'm grateful you were here," said Lucile. "Caspian… he needed to hear that you still cared for him."

Aquaria gave her an appraising look before nodding. Gesturing for Lucile to follow, she began to walk down the corridor, eyes fixed straight ahead. Lucile followed, wondering if she had perhaps said too much.

"My relationship with my brother has always been difficult," said Aquaria. "In light of all that has happened and my own failings, that is all I will say on the matter. I'm grateful to you as well, Lucile, for being there for him when I was not."

"He was there for me as much if not more than I was for him," replied Lucile. _I heard him cry himself to sleep at night in the room next to mine, and I heard his screams as Damon took his pleasures. I lay awake every night, listening to Caspian scream and sob and beg for mercy, and I knew that he was taking on my share of pain as well._ That, however, was best left unsaid. Lucile swallowed. To speak of what happened to Cas without him there to give her cues as to what was and what wasn't okay to share felt wrong, and she would not betray his trust, not even to Aquaria.

"Is that how you broke the curse then?" asked Aquaria, pushing open a door and stepping out onto a balcony.

The cool night air was a balm to Lucile, and she grasped the balcony railings for support as she stared out across the sleeping city. The stars glimmered across the churning sea and candles burned in darkened windows. Gondolas drifted across the canals, and the token few ships which had survived the Imperium lay anchored at port. The view was beautiful, but Aquaria's question weighed upon her mind. Lucile was not a fool. As much as Aquaria genuinely seemed to care for her brother, she was still a queen, and she was here seeking information as much as companionship.

"Yes," Lucile admitted, for there was nothing to gain by lying. "True love's kiss can break any curse."

A strange look crossed Aquaria's face, and she leaned against the railings. "The things we do for the people we love leave scars that can never be healed," she said, and her eyes seemed oddly wet. Hurriedly, Aquaria turned away, and Lucile could not help but think that they were speaking about two very different things entirely.

"You don't know what it was like," said Lucile. "I would have starved if Caspian hadn't risked his neck to smuggle food to my room. I would have lost my maidenhead against my will had he not grievously injured himself to protect me. I would have been whipped until my skin peeled off my back had it not been for your brother."

Aquaria was stiff as a board, but Lucile could not stop herself, not even if she wanted to.

"How could I not fall for the man who would rather die than hurt me? How could I not love Caspian after all we have been through together? I would defy Tsar Luna himself for your brother, Aquaria, and that is the end of it."

"Yes," Aquaria replied. "I gathered as much when you held a knife to my throat."

"I'm sorry about that, by the way," said Lucile. "That was out of line."

"No. It wasn't. I've done worse for Ali." She reached down, resting her hand against her scarred pelvis, and her smile was forced. "From one queen to another, let me tell you this. There will be many days when you'll ask yourself if it was worth it. He'll ask himself the same. You're going to be angry at each other and you're going to be angry at the world. You'll look at what you sacrificed for the other and you'll ask yourself if it was worth it in the end."

Aquaria turned away, heading for the door, and she paused at the threshold.

"When that happens, remember what you've told me tonight, and remember that yes, it most certainly was worth it all. It may not be the truth, but it's the only thing that keeps you going when the nights get dark and lonely."

* * *

Caspian woke with the dawn, his eyes flickering open as the first rays of sun peeked in through his windows. Beside him, Lucile stirred, and he gently extricated himself from her before climbing out of bed. When she was asleep, she looked very peaceful, he thought. It was best that he not wake her. She had more than earned a few late mornings after all that they had endured.

Walking to his bathroom, he bathed and shaved, nicking his face more than once as his hands jittered. _Would they never stop?_ It was ridiculous. He was safe here, he was home, and Damon was dead and consumed. His stammer was beginning to fade. Yet, he still shivered, and his hands still shook whenever he tried to do anything. It was humiliating, but… he could withstand some humiliation, he was certain. What was a jape aimed at him compared to Damon's knives, and what was a joke told to shame him in contrast to a week without food?

Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, Caspian picked up the scissors he'd kept within the cabinet. For as long as he could remember, he'd dyed his hair black to hide his resemblance to his mother, but his red roots had grown out in Hamelin. The edges were still dark, and if he was being honest with himself, it made him look quite wretched. Raising the scissors, he began to snip away at his hair, moving as slowly as possible to avoid nicking himself with the blade. When he was done, it was much shorter than he'd have initially preferred, but he'd messed up more than a few times and been forced to sacrifice a lot of the length.

Still, as he looked in the mirror, he couldn't help but see himself again.

When he left the bathroom, Lucile was still asleep, hugging his pillow close to her chest. Her fair fanned out around her, and he stared for a while. She was a beautiful woman, and not even a year ago, she'd have been out of his league. _She still is,_ a small voice within his mind reminded him, and he turned away, ready to meet the day.

The servants looked at him with surprise as he made his way through the castle. It was not like him to rise so early, he knew, and it certainly wasn't like him to dress as befit his rank. He preferred cut-offs, loose-fitting shirts, and salt-stained boots with his cutlass at his hip. More often than not, he'd waste his days away upon the open water, and he'd drink his nights away in a tavern.

He could not be that Caspian anymore, even if he wanted to.

Today, he wore a formal shirt that had been buttoned to his collar, and he wore a coat over it. The anchor of Aquitania was embroidered over his breast pocket, and his breeches went down to his ankles. He still wore his boots, but these ones were clean and gleamed whenever he passed a window.

"Alec," he said, recognising a passing servant. "If… If I could have a moment of your time."

"Yes, Prince Caspian, sir?" Alec turned and bowed his head, his curly hair flopping over his eyes as he did so. "

"Have breakfast sent to… to my room for Princess Lucile," he said. "And, you have a sister who is a… is a seamstress, if I'm not… not mistaken."

"Kenna," said Alex, "Aye, she's quite skilled, Prince Caspian, sir."

Worry flickered in his eye as mention was made of his sister, and a pang went through Caspian. Did these own subjects think so little of him that they believed he'd simply request their female relatives? He fought the urge to clench his fist in frustration. _I taught them to see me this way, as a selfish and lecherous knave without a true care in the world._

"There's… there's no need for the sir," he replied. "Ask your sister if she… if she would be willing to meet with Princess Lucile. She will be in need… in need of new clothing befitting of a princess of her calibre."

"At once, Prince Caspian," said Alec, pumping a fist over his heart before scurrying away, and Caspian sighed as he caught sight of the other servants glancing his way in confusion. Fighting back the bitter laughter which threatened to escape him, he continued on his way. Politeness from him was clearly something that nobody in the castle seemed to expect.

As he reached the entrance foyer, something large and feathery slammed into his face. He coughed, pushing whatever it was away and fighting back the terror which sprang up within him at the sudden assault before recognition dawned in his eyes.

"Scuttle?" he said, looking at the seagull flapping its wings in front of him. He hadn't seen the bird in years, not since Scuttle had retired from his position as a messenger of his mother.

The seagull squawked, flapping its wings more furiously, and he sighed. He could speak to animals, like Lucile, but his powers of communication were reserved for sea creatures. That power… the power to commune with all who called the sea their home, be they of the land or the air, was reserved for the one who held the trident.

"Scuttle, I can't.. I can't understand you. You're not a sea creature."

The bird squawked, extending his leg, and Caspian spied the note tied there. Reaching out to grasp it, he tore the wax seal open and stared at the Mermish letters. _Aquaria. We're under attack. You must return at once._ His heart sank, and he looked up at Scuttle.

"Have… have you seen her yet?" he asked. "Scuttle, has Aqua—"

"She left an hour ago," said a weary voice from behind him, and a chill ran down Caspian's spine.

He turned to see his father, and he quailed at the sight. King Eric had always been a slender man, but now his clothes hung off his body to the point where he was nothing but a skeleton. His beard and hair were streaked with grey, and there was a sorrow in his eyes that stained the very air around him. _He buried Mother… and I wasn't here, but I'm here now._ Yet, his father's words told him otherwise. Caspian didn't know how to feel. He wanted to hug his father, but the mere thought of human contact sent a shudder down his spine. There was no much he wanted to say, but he knew that he'd trip over his words doing so.

"Ursula means to destroy your mother's legacy," said his father. "Your sister rides to war."

Caspian opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words came. Instead, his feet took on a mind of his own, turning him around and beginning to run for the harbor. The sun was gone, he realized, as he sped through the city, and the sea was choppier than he had ever seen. Waves rose to smash against the sea walls, and the canals were close to overflowing as the surge came.

 _I'll never make it._ He was a strong swimmer, but with the sea like this and him still so weak from his time in Hamelin… he'd be swept aside and smashed the rocks if he so much as tried. Halfway towards the coast, he changed direction and headed for the harbor instead, splashing through ankle-deep water as he did so.

"Prince Caspian," yelled a guardsman as Caspian pushed into the harbor, his gaze fixed at the ship tethered at the end of the wharf. Of all the ships in Aquitania, there were none so swift as the _Stormbringer_ , the ship his father had gifted him upon his sixteenth birthday. Ignoring the guard, Caspian leapt onto the gangplank, drawing Zephyrus form thin air as he did. In a single slash, the mooring lines were sundered, and the ship was adrift upon the roiling sea.

The deck was slippery as he hurried to the wheel, slashing his sword at the ropes as he past them. The sails came loose, filling with wind, and he could hear the mast creak under the strain. Gritting his teeth, Caspian grasped the spinning wheel and spun it around, fighting against the storm as he did so.

 _I am the storm._ His eyes blazed, and the wind changed direction, pushing the _Stormbringer_ forward instead of fighting his every move. He broke through the waves, clearing the harbor and entering the open sea, and his ship strained against the storm as he turned it in the direction of Atlantica.

"Hold on, Aquaria," he said under his breath. "I'm coming."


	45. Ursula Rising: Part 1

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Nine**

 **Ursula Rising**

 **Part One: Voices in the Deep**

* * *

"General Urchin, they've breached the western ramparts," said the soldier as he burst through the doors. "The city is lost."

"It is lost when I say it is lost," said Urchin, fixing the soldier with a steely glare. "Redirect the Hippocampi Knights to drive them back, and have the Sixth Legion circle around to seal the breach."

The other advisors flinched, but he dismissed them without a glance as he followed the soldier out the door, his tail swishing behind him. For weeks now, he had listened to them bicker, and he seen his queen's head bow under the weight of their conflicting desires. One wanted to flee, one wanted to yield, another wanted to call for allies that no longer existed… it was exhausting.

No, this was war, and there would be no yielding. Ursula was the greatest enemy of Atlantica, and even Queen Ariel had tread carefully where the Sea Witch was concerned. It was not pure happenstance that Ursula had been able to raise the ancient beasts of the sea to fight for her in this war. Between the hydra and Cetus, it was a miracle that the walls had stood as long as they had, but Aquaria was her mother's daughter in more ways than one. He had watched with pride as she had slain the beasts as her mother once had. He swallowed, his fingers clenching around his lance until his knuckles were white, feeling the knife twist within his heart. _Ariel…_ She had been more than a queen to him. She had been his best friend in the world.

When they were children, they had swum through these seas, exploring each and every inch of it, from the darkest depths to the brightest secrets. She had been a princess without a care in the world and he had been a young merman who'd hid behind her whenever the going got rough, but he could always look back and count himself amongst the token few who truly knew her. For over twenty years, he had served as her general, as the captain of her personal guard, and if this was to be the last days of Atlantica, he would not meet them hidden away in a chamber within the castle. He picked up speed as the sounds of fighting grew louder. He had lingered with the rest of his queen's council long enough. His soldiers had need of him, as did his queen.

Sebastian was waiting for him in the stables, and he paused as he saddled his hippocampus. The old crab scuttled over, and he leaned over to pick him up in the palm of his hand. Hermit crabs were surprising long-lived, but Sebastian had been old when Urchin had been young. The majordomo of Atlantica had served three monarchs, and he was nearing his end.

"We have seen some things, haven't we, Urchin?" said Sebastian, crawling up his arm to settle upon his shoulder.

"We have indeed, old friend," he replied. "Has the portal been opened?"

"The sirens cannot maintain it not now that Queen Ariel is gone," replied Sebastian. "The civilians are taking shelter within the castle instead."

"Curses," said Urchin, as he swam onto the saddle. The portal had been their final option should the situation go south, but if it had failed them… _We should have begun evacuations weeks ago…_ There were hundreds of merfolk within the castle, men and women and children, and they were defenseless.

Curling his tail along his hippocampus' flank, he reached out to grab the reins with his free hand. The hippocampus took off, and Urchin raised his lance as he burst through the stable doors. The sounds of fighting increased tenfold, and he spurred his steed to ascend so that he could have a view of the city.

His heart sank in his chest.

"Tsar Luna above…" muttered Sebastian. "This… Urchin."

The outer walls were in ruins, and Ursula's monsters surged through the city, butchering all that stood in their way. They were… strange creatures, a perversion of merfolk that were half-snake and half-man. The soldiers were putting a valiant fight against the creatures, but they were outnumbered, and the monsters were brutal in their assault.

"We've seen worse," lied Urchin, and he charged.

The first creature to spot him was rewarded with a spear through the eye. Urchin yanked his weapon free, spilling a cloud of green blood into the water before striking out at the next foe within reach, catching it in the chest. As it died, his hippocampus whinnied and lurched to the left before slumping, a barbed arrow sticking out of the space between its eyes. Seeing red, Urchin swam free from the saddle and swept out his spear, slashing open half-a-dozen throats with a single attack. As quick as he had, he brought the butt of his spear up behind him, piercing one of the creatures as it tried to sneak up on him, and he spun, slapping another creature away from him with his tail.

Something slammed into his gut, and he went spinning through the water, Sebastian clinging to him, and he slammed into the wall. Spluttering, he turned to see what had struck him, and a sense of grim determination overtook him. Blisters covered his midriff where the tentacle had slapped him him, and the beast's roared sent forth a shockwave which was all but deafening.

"Order the men to return to the castle," said Urchin in a calm voice, staring at the hulking beast. "The city is lost."

"Urchin, you cannot fight the Kraken on your own," said Sebastian.

"I can and I will. Order the retreat, old friend, and I will see you again in Olympia."

He set down the crab, and he braced himself for battle as Sebastian scuttled away. The gargantuan octopus approached, smashing buildings before it, a cloud of toxic ink spurting from its maw, and its eyes were large as lakes. Urchin had always been slight of stature, but against the Kraken, he was the size of a needle beside a titan.

Raising his spear, he charged. _For Atlantica. For Queen Aquaria. And, for you, Ariel…_

A dozen tentacles burst through the water in his direction, but he dodged them all, spinning and whirling through the water as he swam. The blade of his spear gleamed as he darted forwards, avoiding the cloud of toxic ink as best he could, and he drove the spear into the kraken's eye. It roared as blood spurted forth, blinding him, and Urchin yanked his spear free as a tentacle slammed towards him. It would not come loose. Cursing, he darted away at the last moment, unarmed against the monstrosity, tasting blood and poison as he swam this way and that, avoiding the tentacles as best he could.

A tentacle came at him from the left, and he drew his sword. Swinging with all his strength, he cleaved through the soft flesh just before it swung into him. Blood flooded the water, and he coughed as it filled his lungs. The tentacle sank to the ground with a loud thump, and he swam away, unable to see within through the bloodied water. Another tentacle appeared from nowhere and wrapped around him, and his eyes grew wide as the suckers burned at his bare flesh. His arms were trapped at his side, but he beat at the tentacle with his tail as it constricted around him.

He clamped his teeth into the rotten flesh, ripping a mouthful of it away, but the Kraken barely seemed to feel it as it crushed him. Red spots burst across Urchin's visions as his ribs cracked, one by one, and it still grew tighter. He couldn't breathe. He could barely see. Blood spilled from his mouth and he screamed without sound, fighting against the creature's hold.

A bolt of golden light scorched through the water, and the Kraken roared at it was struck in the chest. Urchin turned his head just in time to see the second bolt burst forth from the trident, and he felt a smile curl upon his lips despite the pain. Queen Aquaria was furious in her wrath, and she looked so much like her mother that it hurt. The kraken roared, and the queen slashed the water with her trident, releasing a searing beam of golden light which ripped through the beast as though it was made of butter. The tentacles were cut, and Urchin felt the grip around him loosen as he sank to the ocean floor.

He could barely move. From the corner of his eyes, he could see his fingers begin to bubble, and his blond hair fizzled around his head as he turned to seafoam. _Ariel… You would be so proud to see her. So very, very proud._

* * *

Aquaria gritted her teeth as the kraken sank to the murky depths of the sea, her knuckles white around the trident. That attack had drained her significantly, and the fighting was nowhere near over. She was powerful, yes, for the blood of the Olympus ran through her veins, but she was nowhere near strong enough to keep this up forever. Like all the people in this world, even she had her limits, and she was fast approaching them.

It did not bode well that Ursula had not yet joined the battle in person. At this rate, Aquaria knew that she'd be too weak to conjure so much as a spark by the time the Sea Witch opted to show her face, which was exactly what Ursula wanted. Yet, what alternative did she have? Her citizens hid within the palace, and her soldiers had fought for days without rest as it was. If she did not protect them, who would? If she did not stand between them and the darkness, was she even fit to their queen?

Sweeping the trident out before her, she released a swathe of burning light against the monstrous creatures, burning them to dust. They shrieked before her assault, but the next wave kept their distance. _Good. Let them fear me. Let them not see how tired I truly am._ Almost as if they'd heard her, the enemy hordes began to slink away, and Aquaria watched them go in confusion. No… it could not be that easy. Life had taught her that much. Victory never came this simply.

The answer came as quickly as the monsters had disappeared, for a swirling cloud of black sludge appeared in the distance. It sped towards the city, and the air was thick with cackling. _Ursula…_ The sludge stole across the outlying areas, stripping the sea bare, consuming coral and kelp and shells with indiscretion.

"No!" Aquaria screamed, raising the trident. Light bloomed from the prongs, shooting out to surround the city in a translucent dome of golden light. She gasped as the energy poured from her body and into the barrier, and she took a deep breath. _I can withstand this. I am the Daughter of the Sea._ The sludge slammed into her barrier, and she was nearly thrown off balance. Clutching the trident with both hands, she drifted back through the ruined streets of her city, forcing as much of her power into the barrier as she dared.

The sludge was strong, chipping away at her shield and burning away the magic as fast as she could replenish it, but unlike her, it would not tire. She could not hold up a barrier of this size for long, and as much as it pained, she could not protect the entire kingdom on her own. _I need you now more than ever, Caspian._ Even as the thought came to her, she regretted it. Her brother had suffered more than she could have ever imagined, and it was not fair of her to expect him to endure more, not when his responsibility lay with Aquitania. Ursula's constant cackling made it hard to think. Her breath coming in ragged pants, Aquaria began to draw back, retracting the barrier as she retreated towards the palace.

Buildings were swallowed by the sludge along with plants and thousands of lifeforms that were too small for the eye to see. Furious tears stung at her eyes, but her kingdom was not the city of Atlantica. It was not even the ocean. It was the merfolk and sea creatures she had sworn to defend. So long as they were safe, Atlantica would remain. They could rebuild buildings and plant new gardens when this was over.

Finally, she found herself swimming above the gates of her palace, and the barrier that had once been so large was just large enough to shroud the building. The sludge was relentless, and she pressed on, harsher than ever, and she gritted her teeth as it pushed against her harder than she could withstand.

"Queen Aquaria, you do not stand alone," said a soldier, coming to swim beside her. He reached out, grasping her wrist, and fresh magic seeped into her skin. Another joined him, grasping her from the other side, and others joined them, forming a chain of merfolk which poured their magic into her, each and every one of them.

"Thank you," she breathed, and her eyes blazed and she restored the barrier, healing the cracks and burning away the sludge. It retreated, seeping back into the sea floor, revealing the desolation, and the merfolk released her, sinking to the ground. They were exhausted, and who could blame them. Magic was never easy for those who were born without it.

The sludge returned as quickly as it had faded, bursting forth around her palace to form a thousand sticky tentacles. Aquaria's eyes grew wide as they whipped towards the barrier, striking it with such intensity that she flew through the water and slammed against the walls of her palace. Gasping, she gritted her teeth, her grasp upon the trident never faltering, and she redoubled her efforts with what magic remained to her.

"You cannot stop me…" The Sea Witch's voice carried upon the waves, and Aquaria glared at the swirl of sticky shadows that emerged from the gloom. Ursula emerged from it, her tentacles spiralling around her, and she wore a reddened jewel upon her throat. It gleamed in the darkness like a fiery eye, and Aquaria could sense the corruption pouring from it.

"I will stop you," replied Aquaria, her arms trembling from the strain of maintaining the barrier. Fresh cracks appeared where the sludge's tentacles were pushing against it, and if it was possible, they seemed to be growing stronger as she weakened.

"Let go," said Ursula, her grin growing. "Let go and your end will be swift."

"No…" Aquaria glared. "I am Queen. This… this is my kingdom. These are my people. I will _never_ surrender to the likes of you, Sea Bitch."

Ursula cackled, throwing back her head. Raising her hands above her, she conjured forth two spheres of magic, both blazing with such ferocity that a part of Aquaria wanted nothing more than to turn and flee. Ursula flung the orbs, and they slammed into the barrier with the force of a dying star, momentarily blinding all who gazed upon it.

Yet, when the glare faded, Aquaria remained upright. She was on the ground, her tail curled beneath her, and her crown had cracked in half. Still, she held onto the trident, directing its power to the fractured barrier, even as trickles of blood ran from her eyes, her nose, her ears and her mouth. She looked around her. Her soldiers were barely able to swim after lending her their strength, and her people… she could feel them, hiding within her castle. The walls would not protect them if her barrier broke. She heard the wailing of a child and the hushed prayers of a mother. She heard the whispers of an old merman, and she felt their hearts beating behind her, relying upon her, depending on her to keep them safe.

She would not, could not, lose this fight.

"I am Aquaria Starshells," she whispered. "Queen of Atlantica and Princess of Aquitania. I am the daughter of Queen Ariel and King Eric, the granddaughter of King Triton. The blood of Olympus flows through my veins."

She rose, her body shaking like a leaf in a gale.

"I am the Daughter of the Sea, and you will not break me."

* * *

The waves rose as high as mountains, and the thunder clapped louder than a dragon's roar. Caspian was drenched in seawater and rain, and his hair clung to his face as he surged across the sea, drawing closer and closer to Atlantica. It was all he could do to remain upright at the wheel of his ship as the wrath of the sea was unleashed in its totality.

"Tsar Luna spare… spare us all," he muttered, straining against the wheel as the currents tried to push him off course. His right arm was screaming in agony, but he pushed on regardless. In his eighteen years, Caspian had never seen a storm of this magnitude. The sea walls of Aquitania would never hold against waves of this size, and his was a city that had been built to endure the worst storms that the gods could throw their way. The other cities… the impact of this chaos would be felt as far away as Arendelle in the north and Agrabah in the south…

A black speck appeared in the sky, and Caspian squinted, trying to make out what it was. _Not another enemy._ He gritted his teeth, reaching for Zephyrus. If it was, he'd blast them from the sky with his lightning before they could get near. As strong as he could be, he was nowhere near his full strength, and it would likely be months before he was completely recharged. Aquaria did not have that long, and every bit of his power was too valuable to waste right now.

Then, the speck grew larger, and Caspian breathed a sigh of relief. _Figures he would come._ He shook himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Of course Ali would be here if Aquaria was in trouble. His heart twinged. Ali had been his best friend, once upon a time, but their last meeting had been… Caspian didn't want to think about it, not now when he needed his wits about him.

Ali landed on the deck and climbed off his carpet before staggering across the heaving deck. The Prince of Agrabah looked rather green around the gills, truth be told, but that was to be expected. There were no ships in the desert, and Ali had never been a sailor.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Ali, finally reaching the wheel. "Didn't expect you cared enough to risk your neck for her."

 _Ouch._ Caspian winced. _I deserved that._

"I care," said Caspian, not trusting himself to elaborate. If he explained, he would remember, and if he remembered, he would not be able to keep his composure. No, all that mattered was the fight to come, and everything could wait for after it was all over. "How… how did you even… even know to come?"

Ali considered him for a moment before nodding. Leaning against the railing for support, he shook his head. "The last I spoke to your sister, she told me that she was preparing for the final fight. When a series of tidal waves devastated the coastline of my kingdom, I reckoned the time had come. Lucky for me that Carpet returned this morning sans his riders, so he was rested enough to carry me out here in this storm."

"Fair," said Caspian. "Your… your people get out… out in time?"

"Most of them, yes," replied Ali, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this, Caspian. We both know exactly who you are. Why the change of heart?"

Caspian closed his eyes. He would have to explain himself… but what would that accomplish? He'd seen the look in Aquaria's eyes when she'd learned what had happened to him. She had pitied him, and she acted as though every bad thing he'd done no longer mattered. That… that wasn't how it worked. He didn't want to be pitied. He wanted to forget and move forward without having to try and excuse everything he'd ever done because of what had happened after he'd been a right cunt to the people who'd loved him.

 _Well, that's a good an explanation as any._

"Believe it... or… or not, Ali, I… I love my sister," he stammered. He took a deep breath to compose himself, forcing away the memories which threatened to smother him. The sea air was comforting, and it helped ground him. _I'm not in Hamelin. It's just Ali. He'll punch me in the face, sure, but he'll never hurt like Damon did. I'm safe. It's just Ali._ Filled with fresh resolve, he continued, "So… so either get back on your… your fucking carpet and try… and try flying through this… this storm, or just shut up and… and let me focus on… on keeping this ship on course."

"There's the Caspian I know and loathe," said Ali in a dry voice, but he held up his hands in surrender all the same before mercifully falling silent. The look in his eyes, however, told Caspian all he needed to know. This changed nothing between them, and when the dust cleared, it was very likely that Ali would never say another word to him for as long as he lived, provided they both survived this fight.

Caspian sighed, shaking his head, and he turned his full attention back to the sea. They were very close to Atlantica now, but something was wrong. There was a darkness in the waters, wretched and foul, and it bubbled near the surface like an oil spill.

"Hold on," he said, gritting his teeth as the sea began to swirl. The currents moved against him, and it took everything in him just to keep the wheel from spinning wildly as the vortex opened. It was as though someone had pulled the stopper out of a tub and allowed the water to drain away, and he fought to steer the ship away to no avail.

Ali lunged towards him, grasping onto the wheel, and they twisted together. For a brief moment, the rudder began to shift and the ship seemed about to escape the maelstrom, but then there was a loud crack and they both went flying to the ground as the wheel began to spin so fast it became a blur.

"Get onto Carpet," grunted Ali, struggling to his feet. "We'll be sucked in."

"No," said Caspian, drawing his sword. "I may… may not be able to… to steer this ship, but the… but the storm can do it for me." His eyes sparked, and the wind responded to his call, filling his sails and forcing his ship free of the maelstrom. As though his sword was a baton, he directed the ship across the cresting waves, for there was no need to conserve his energy anymore.

Ursula was here.

* * *

Aquaria swayed against the trident, but the barrier remained in place. It was weakening, as was she, and she was surrounded by her own blood in the water, but she would not yield, not while there was life in her body.

"I tire of this game, little queen," said Ursula. Her cackling had stopped long ago, and now the Sea Witch just looked bored. Her eyes flashed, and she began to grow. The jewel at her throat gleamed like fire, and her tentacles began to swell in size. First, she was as tall as the walls of the castle, and then she was bigger, towering over Aquaria. Her tentacles grew larger than those of the Kraken, and her laughter returned, louder and louder as she slammed them against the barrier. It quaked beneath the assault, and the sludge was there as well. Aquaria threw back her head and screamed, her mind reeling from impact after impact, and she saw stars dance before her eyes as she all but crumpled to the ground.

And, through it all, Ursula continued to grow.

" _Fight on,"_ said a voice, eerie and cold, and a figure materialized at Aquaria's side.

"Mother…" she whispered. "I'm sorry. I can't…"

" _You can,"_ said another voice, ancient as the waves themselves. " _You can do more than you know, Aquaria."_ Her grandfather emerged from the gloom, spectral and scorched by death, but she could feel his presence.

" _Do not yield to this monster,"_ whispered another, " _You are the Voice of the Ocean, and we are the sea."_ More voices spoke, first dozens and then hundreds, and she felt the strength return to her.

" _We stand with you, Aquaria,"_ whispered Queen Ariel. " _We are seafoam and memory, but we are the sea. You are the sea. And the sea cannot be tamed nor forced to yield. Draw on us. Draw on all of us."_

The barrier shattered and the sludge flew at Aquaria from all directions, but at the last moment, she slammed the butt of the trident upon the seafloor. With a crack louder than thunder, a gong echoed through the deep, and the voices began to sing as they faded back into the waters. It was a haunting melody, an ancient melody, sung not in the tongues of man and merfolk, but in a language so much older than the world itself. Aquaria eyes glowed gold as the sludge melted away mere seconds before it could strike her, and she slammed down the trident again.

A ripple of light burst from her, and the soldiers vanished in a shower of sparks. The heartbeats of her citizens faded as they flickered away, transported by her spell. They would be safe in Aquitania, for now at least, but the spell had drained her beyond belief. She closed her eyes and for a third time, she slammed down the trident. Faint cracks appeared along the ocean's floor, spilling a storm of bubbles into the deep, and she began to swim for the surface. Beneath her, Ursula's tentacles closed upon the palace of Atlantica, shattering the towers and sweeping it away. Her home… it had taken Poseidon a decade to raise and an eternity to rule, and it was gone in a single day. Fury seized her, and she drew on that as well, rising up from the deep to confront the Sea Witch head-on.

It was foolish to continue drawing on her own reserves when she had nothing left to give, and so she did not. Instead, she drew upon the sea itself, and the power of the ocean was limitless.

"Ursula," she screamed as she broke the surface. "Face me."

* * *

Ursula rose above the sea, gargantuan in size, and her tentacles splayed out in all directions. Ali stared, unable to comprehend the monster before them, all his thoughts about Caspian's odd way of speaking fleeing his mind. He had seen monsters in his time. He had fought Gaston in Amoré. He had stood against the Hollows Ones and Odile. Ursula was worse… so much worse. She could likely chuck about the Pyramids of Agrabah as if they were pebbles, he realized, and he felt true terror course through his veins. Ursula was death made flesh, and he could not see a way of defeating her.

"She's bigger than… than she was last time," said Caspian, still using his sword to direct the winds and keep them from being dragged beneath the waves.

"I can tell," said Ali, reaching for his knife. _She wouldn't even feel it if I stabbed her a thousand times,_ he knew, but he couldn't not fight.

The ship lurched beneath him, nearly knocking him off his feet, but he grasped the railing to stand firm. If it was even possible, his eyes grew wider as a dozen more maelstroms opened across the sea, their swirling maws swallowing rubble and dragging the ships in a thousand directions at once. Beside them, waterspouts rose into the sky, the swirling winds lifting water thousands of feet into the air. _Tornados upon the open sea…_

"Caspian… Atlantica..."

"I know," replied Caspian, his voice hoarse. "I… I know."

Ali took a deep breath, the rain stinging at his face, and something flashed across the roiling surface of the sea. Like fire, her hair spread out around her, and Aquaria rose to balance upon the fins at the end of her tail, her trident in her hands. Blood streamed across her body, and she shuddered as she unleashed a bolt of raw energy at the Sea Witch. It struck Ursula in the gut, and the Sea Witch recoiled before righting herself, revealing that there barely a scratch upon her.

"Get onto Carpet," said Caspian, and for the first time in his life, Ali obeyed.

"What's the plan?" asked Ali, hovering above Caspian as his former friend's face screwed in concentration, the strain of forcing the winds themselves to change their course showing itself across his features.

"She shrugged of… of a blast from the… from the trident as if it was nothing," said Caspian through gritted teeth. "Nothing I… I throw at her will… will penetrate her skin. Lightning rod. Need a… a conductor."

Ali nodded, knowing the look Caspian was giving him. It usually involved him having to put his neck on the line for whatever hairbrained scheme that he'd come up with, but if there was a chance... Regardless of everything, this was still Caspian. They knew each other. They'd fought together before.

"I'll line her up then," said Ali.

"And I'll… I'll knock her down," finished Caspian, and for that one moment in time, it was as though their falling out had never happened at all.

* * *

Aquaria coughed up blood and flecks of flesh. All the power of the sea, and she had barely scratched Ursula. She could keep fighting, keep drawing upon the sea until her body gave out, but there was no way she would last not enough to do significant damage. The ocean's raw power was too brutal in its intensity, and it ate at her even as it aided her in the battle. A double-edged sword… _There is a reason Mother never drew upon this power._

"Is that the best you can do?" Ursula bellowed, throwing her arms into the air. "Foolish girl. You should have given up while I still felt merciful."

Aquaria flung herself out of the way as a tentacle came crashing down upon the sea, throwing up monstrous waves in both directions as it did so. For a second, the trident escaped her grasp as he was swept along by the current, but she quickly regained it. Turning, she raised and aimed, but a second she could fire a bolt of lightning arced across the sky. Like a spiderweb, it spread between the clouds before striking Ursula from a dozen different points, and Aquaria whirled. She knew that magic.

The _Stormbringer_ appeared before her, climbing over the waves, and she fought the urge to rub at her eyes in disbelief as she caught sight of Caspian at the helm, his sword outstretched towards the heavens. Fury glinted in his eyes as he swung his blade, conjuring a second bolt of chain lightning, and Ursula screamed as the bolts burned her skin in a dozen places.

Then, a speck flitted through the sky, and Aquaria's jaw hung agape as she saw a figure the size of an ant jump off a flying carpet and land upon the Sea Witch's head. _Ali… you fool._ Even from this distance with blood in her eyes, she could see the flicker of silver as his knife buried itself into Ursula's brow. Then, he jumped, plummeting towards the sea only to be caught by Carpet at the last moment.

"Aquaria!" Caspian's scream caught her attention, and she turned just as the _Stormbringer_ drew up beside her. A rope swung over the edge and she grasped it, pulling herself up as she climbed aboard. A third bolt of lightning cut across the sky, and for the briefest moment in time, the lightning stopped. Ursula screamed again louder, her tentacles beating at the sea, and then the clap of thunder came, so loud that the earth itself held its breath.

"Caspian," she managed to say, barely able to stand as her tail shifted to form legs. Leaning upon the trident, she saw Ali whizzing towards them, waving his arms about and screaming something she could not hear.

"Strike with me," said Caspian, and he swung his blade. All three bolts of lightning arced at once, spreading across the sky like a crackling net, and the bolts rained down upon Ursula, converging upon a single point: the knife Ali had driven into her brow.

 _Metal and electricity…_ Understanding dawned on Aquaria, and poured everything she had into her trident. She drew on her pain and her suffering, on her love and her fears, on her joy and her memory. She called on the sea and the souls of all those who had come before her, on the dream of a city lost beneath the waves, and she fired.

The lightning struck first. Ursula howled, throwing back her head in agony as the knife acted as a conductor, carrying the lightning through her resistant skin and forcing it directly into her flesh. She jerked about, smoke rising from her form. Her skin grew scorched in places, blistering and bursting open to shower them in her blood as the lightning surged through her body. Then, Aquaria's attack hit, striking her in the chest and exploding with the brilliance of a thousand suns. It pierced the Sea Witch, blowing a hole in her sternum the size of a carriage, and Ursula fell backwards into the sea.

Aquaria sank to her knees as the storm subsided, coughing up blood. Beside her, Caspian slumped over, his eyes red with burst blood vessels, spluttering into his sodden sleeve. Ali landed behind her, leaping off Carpet and dropping down beside them, wrapping her in his arms.

"Aquaria?" he asked, and that one single word contained a thousand questions.

"I'll be fine," she whispered. "I'm just… in need of a very long rest."

"You can… can say that again," said Caspian, and he wore a wan smile as he looked up at her. Reaching down, she held his hand. He didn't flinch, and she swallowed, knowing full well what that meant. "Sorry it… it took me so long to… to get here," he added.

"You came when I needed you most," she whispered. "Both of you did."

" _How touching,"_ said a macabre voice upon the wind, echoing and magnified. The maelstroms resurged, and the waterspouts rose once more. _Impossible. I blasted her heart out of her chest._

Ursula burst out of the sea. Her eyes were hollow sockets, burned clean by the lightning, and pus-weeping burns covered her body. There were holes as well, and chunks of missing flesh. Aquaria could see clean through the hole in her chest where her heart should be, but somehow, by some madness, Ursula was still alive. The jewel upon her chest glowed like fire, and Ursula raised her hands into the sky.

"That was my… my most powerful attack," muttered Caspian, staring at her in disbelief. "Not even… not even Mother could have survived it. I… I fried her organs to a crisp."

"I don't even have enough magic left to light a candle," said Aquaria, doubling over as a fit of coughing overtook her.

A tentacle slammed down beside the ship, nearly capsizing the Stormbringer, and Caspian's control of the wind broke. The ship listed to the side, dragged in by the Maelstrom, and the three of them slammed against the railing. A second tentacle came crashing down, followed by a bolt of purple light which burst upon the waves with such force that it formed a crater upon the ocean floor.

"We need to go," said Ali, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet. His other hand closed around Caspian's, and her brother shuddered at the touch as Ali half-carried, half-dragged the two of them to Carpet. Blood spurting from her lips, her head pounding as though someone had taken a hammer to her temples, Aquaria climbed onto the flying carpet and collapsed as soon as she was on it, too tired to even raise her head. Carpet dipped as Caspian collapsed beside her, still coughing and shuddering, and Ursula cackled, flinging magical blast after magical blast in their direction.

Ali hopped on beside them, clutching onto Carpet's tassels as they rose into the sky, struggling against the gale.

"Hold on," he yelled as Carpet wove through the air, avoiding the waterspouts and magical blasts. Aquaria shuddered, barely able to make sense of what was going on around her, and she reached out to take her brother's hand as Carpet whizzed through the air, heading for Aquitania.


	46. Ursula Rising: Part 2

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Nine**

 **Ursula Rising**

 **Part Two: Blood in the Water**

* * *

In all her days, Lucile had never so much death. Her hands were stained red, and they were sticky with seafoam. The courtyard of Aquitania's castle was filled with tents, and healers hurried from wounded to wounded, saving who they could and abandoning those who were too far gone. It was a cruel necessity. Resources were stretched too thin, and it was more important to heal those who could still fight than to comfort those for whom death had become an inevitability.

Yet, Lucile could not turn from them. As a healer, she was not as skilled as the rest of the medics, and she would do nothing more than get in their way if she tried to help. Instead, she sat beside the merfolk as they passed, clutching their hands as they dissolved into pools of seafoam upon the paving stones. The pools did not linger long, not with the rain beating down upon them. In death, the merfolk flowed to the canals and aqueducts, returning to the sea which had once given them life.

There was a cruel symmetry to the lives of the merfolk, she thought, as she clasped the hand of a dark-haired merman with gaping holes in his chest. She'd done what she could to make his final hours easier, but he would not see the sunset.

"You have a gentle heart, My Lady," he gasped, tightening his grasp upon her hand.

"And you have a brave one," she replied.

"If I was brave, I would have remained in Atlantica and stood with my queen," replied the merman. "I'm just a soldier who did my duty, My Lady. There's no bravery there." His voice grew fainter with each word, and he turned away from her to gaze into the sky.

"You stood your ground," she countered, shaking her head. "You fought for your people against impossible odds. There is courage in that. What is your name?"

"Cove, My Lady," he said.

"My name is Lucile, Cove" she replied. "There is no need for titles now. In the end, aren't we all just the same?"

Cove opened his mouth to speak, but foam bubbled at his lips. Lucile closed her eyes as she felt his fingers dissolve within hers. After allowing herself a moment to regain her composure, she rose to her feet and turned, staring out across the camp. Rain pounded the ground, drenching all who were without shelter, and waves were thunder upon the shore. Reaching up to squeeze the water from her hair, Lucile began to walk towards the next makeshift tent.

"You will catch a cold if you linger out here much longer," said a stern voice behind her, and Lucile took a deep breath before turning to face Queen Snow.

"Perhaps," she replied, sizing up the once majestic queen. "It will not kill me."

Queen Snow raised an eyebrow, and she barely resembled the woman that Lucile had once known. _It could well have been another life, for all that time now matters…_ Her black hair was drawn into an elegant bun atop her head, though there were streaks of grey within it that had not been there just a few years ago. Once, Queen Snow had worn rouge upon her cheeks and colored balms upon her lips, but they had since been replaced with wrinkles and age. Her gown, while pretty, was nowhere near the grandeur she had once favored as the Queen Consort of Renvale.

Yet, beneath all appearances, Lucile could still see that the queen had not changed much. Her disdainful glare was much the same as it always was.

"You are a princess," said Snow. "Your place is in the castle sanctum, leading the rest of the dames and maidens in prayer and song to keep spirits up during this perilous time. It is not here, surrounded by commoners, or shedding tears over people you have never met."

Lucile clenched her fist and surveyed the queen. _Am I to pray while Caspian risks his life defending us? Am I to sing while men and women spend their lives to keep me safe?_ Even as the thoughts echoed through her mind, the revelation come to her. _That is all she has ever done, has she not?_

"His name was Cove," replied Lucile.

"And who was he to you?" asked Queen Snow, not letting her finish her sentence. "Just one more—"

"Someone's son," said Lucile, cutting off the queen, and her voice was so sharp that it could cut through stone. "Someone's lover. Someone's father. To me, he was just another soldier from a kingdom that is not even my own, and that is true, but to those people, he was the world. Of course, one would expect you to understand that. King Florian was nothing to me. He was the king of a kingdom that was not my own and we had met only a handful of times. We barely said three words to each other. Yet, I mourned for him all the same because he was a good man. Was I wrong to do that?"

Queen Snow took a step back, looking as though she'd just been slapped. Her cheeks grew red, either from anger or shame, and her glare glew even darker. For a moment, Lucile expected the queen to strike her, but then she seemed to collapse into herself.

"He was a king," said Queen Snow, as if that made all the difference in the world.

"Do you truly think that our stations make it so our lives have more meaning than the people around us?" asked Lucile. _There, that will shut her up, and if it does not, then I have just revealed her true self._

"And here we come to the grandest illusion of all time," said Queen Snow. "The lie that all lives are equal and that we are all the same. Let me teach you a very valuable lesson on this day, Lucile. In life, there will always be people who matter more and people who matter less. All life has meaning, but some have more meaning than others. Today, you're looking at me like I'm a jaded fool, but in a year or maybe a decade, when you sit upon your throne, surrounded by weeds that need to be pulled out by the roots lest they strangle you in your sleep, your hands stained with blood from having to defend the people you love at the cost of your own soul, then, and only then will you know that what I am saying is true."

"Perhaps," said Lucile in the sweetest voice she could muster. "But, then again, I doubt I will ever be so vile a queen that my subjects cannot distinguish between their queen and the witch who once poisoned her."

Dipping into a light curtsy, she took her leave of the queen. Their meaningless meeting had already taken up far too much time, and the wounded needed her far more than did a queen who had grown so bitter and jaded that she no longer saw what was right in front of her.

* * *

"I'm… I'm sorry by the… the way," said Caspian, sitting on the edge of Carpet with his legs hanging over the edge. "For what I… I said that night."

"Good to hear," said Ali, and his voice was cold, so very cold, as he sat cross-legged and at the front. His braid had come undone during the fight, and his drenched hair hung around him like a second skin. When last Caspian had looked, Ali had been running his fingers through Aquaria's hair as she slept between them, to exhausted to remain awake.

That had been nearly an hour ago. Caspian hadn't turned around since. In the frenzy of their confrontation with Ursula, it had been easy to fall into their old rhythm, but that had faded during their flight. The frostiness between them hurt, and it pained him all the more because he knew that it was entirely his fault. _I taught them to see me this way… I can't be upset that I don't like it now that they do._ That didn't change the fact that yes, it did hurt, and yes, he would do whatever he could to fix it.

"Ursula will… will reach Aquitania in… in a few days," he said finally, hoping that the topic would be enough to open up a conversation. "We didn't kill… kill her, but we… we hurt her enough that… that we have a bit of time to… to prepare for her next assault."

"We?" asked Ali. "I'm honestly surprised you haven't already taken off in the other direction."

"That's unfair," said Caspian, hanging his head. _Does he really think that little of me after nearly eighteen years of friendship?_ "I've done a… a lot of terrible… terrible things, Ali, but come… come on, you know—"

"I know that the last thing you said to me was that I fuck your sister enough to replace the baby we'd lost," said Ali, cutting him off. "Kind of speaks for itself, doesn't it."

"I'm sor—"

"You know, I always told myself that you're just misunderstood and that your heart was in the right place. I knew who you were but I always thought you'd have a limit to how low you'd sink to win an argument. I thought _I_ was that limit. I loved you like a brother. I treated you like one for as long as I can remember. I grew up with you. I was there for you when you were upset. I was your port in any storm. You were angry about the trident rejecting you? I was there for you. You were mad that Hrist just wanted you to warm her bed and not to rule at her side in DunBroch? I was there for you. When your grandfather ascended, and you didn't know how to feel, I was there for you. Just makes me wonder when you were ever there for me."

Ali fell silent, his chest heaving, and Caspian hung his head lower. It was true. He had been a horrible friend for years upon years, and that night in the tavern had just been the straw that broke the camel's back. The silence lingered in the rain, interspersed with the ring of thunder and the flickering of lightning across the sky. Between them, Aquaria shifted but did not wake, and Caspian sighed.

"I'm a… a horrible person, I… I know," replied Caspian. "I'm… I'm trying, though, to be a… a better person now. It's all I can… can do to make up… make up for what I've… I've done. I know it's… it's not good enough. I know it'll never… never be good enough. I'm sorry."

Silence reigned again, and then a hand closed upon his shoulder. A jolt ran through Caspian's spine, and he swung around, eyes wild. _Don't touch me!_ Unbidden, a dozen sparks burst from his fingers, and he had to clench his fists to keep from blasting them all by accident. Gasping for breath, he knelt at the very edge of the carpet, struggling to regain control. _It was just Ali. It's not Damon. It'll never be Damon again. It's just Ali._

"Don't touch me," he managed to say. "Please."

"Ian?"

"Just… don't touch me."

"Okay," said Ali. He held his hands up in surrender, still looking concerned, and his eyes screamed a thousand questions.

Caspian had to fight to keep from yelling. He could still feel those wretched hands upon him, on his sides and on his hips, holding him down or else closing around his throat. He'd watched Damon die and he'd heard him scream… but it changed nothing.

He'd feel those hands upon him forever, wouldn't he?

Then, through it all, something sparked, something that he'd missed in his terror. _He called me Ian._ Nobody called him Ian, save for Ali. His subjects called him Prince Caspian. His friends called him Caspian. On good days, his family called him Cas. When they were younger, Aquaria had sometimes called him Kelphead… but Ali was the only one who'd ever used the latter syllable of his name as a nickname.

It brought back a hundred memories of a happier time, and Caspian felt tears sting at his eyes. He turned away, not wanting to let them show.

"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Ali. "You're whiter than a sheet."

"Hamelin…" he said, returning to his original position. "I spent a… a few months in… in Hamelin. It…" _He hurt me. He beat me. He broke my mind. He poured acid down my throat. He pulled my scales with tweezers and ripped out my fingernails with a pair of pliers. He held me down. He forced me to…_ Caspian shook himself, swallowing. "It is… is what it is, Ali."

There. That look. That expression of horror and sympathy and shock… That was exactly what Caspian had wanted to avoid, and yet, just like those spectral hands, the looks would never fade away either. _I'll never be free, not truly._

"Ian… I'm sorry."

"It is what… what it is," said Caspian, sitting on the edge of Carpet with his legs hanging over the edge. "It doesn't… doesn't change anything. Don't… don't treat me differently because… because you know now. Aquaria… She was… was furious at me when I… I finally managed to get… get home. She didn't know… know either. But, I'd done a… a lot of… of things before I was taken. She forgave all… all of that. But… it isn't because she… she accepted my apology."

"Your sister is a ver—"

"She… she forgave me and took… took me back into her… her heart because she felt… felt sorry for me because of… of what happened, not because… because I'm sorry and… and want to be a… a better man than… than the boy I was," said Caspian, cutting him off. It felt good to say out loud, to acknowledge what had been nagging at him since his reconciliation with his sister. "She hated me… me and then, because I… I suffered, suddenly she… she loved me… me again like it's opposite day, and… I don't want… want that to… to be the reason I'm redeemed in… in your eyes as well."

"It's not the reason," said Ali. "You've changed, Caspian, more than even you realize. From where I'm sitting, I can see that. You are a better man today than you were a few months ago. I'm forgiving you, not because I feel sorry for you, but because I know you mean it when you say that you're sorry."

"And, as for Aquaria," continued Ali. "You broke her heart when you disappeared. She was furious at you for not being there. It was a thousand things that can be forgiven combined with the one thing that could never be forgiven, and then she learned, correctly I'm assuming, that you had never abandoned her at all."

"She did…"

"Then she had nothing to be angry about, did she?" asked Ali, raising an eyebrow. "There was nothing to hate you over. And, when you remove the hatred and anger, all that's left is the love she feels for her little brother."

Caspian swallowed, his throat growing thick. _It… it was never about pity._ He didn't know how to respond, how to thank Ali for pointing out something he should have been able to see in the first place. _He knows her well._

"I'm not… not that little," he said finally, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips as Ali chuckled.

For a long time after, there was silence. Yet, this was not the frosted silence that had existed between them since their meeting on the ship. It was warm and easy, carrying with it the faintest memory of nights long past. They'd drag themselves back to their palace, reeking of alcohol and covered in kisses, and they'd flop upon a bed to sleep off their drunken haze. It was a companionable silence and, honestly, Caspian quite liked it.

In the distance, he could make out the lights of Aquitania, and he sighed in relief. He needed nothing more than a hot bath, a warm meal, and a long nap beneath his blankets. Unlike Aquaria, his magical reserves were far more limited, and he had burned through almost everything he had in the fight.

Carpet moved quickly. Soon enough, they were circling the castle courtyard before descending to hover a few feet above the courtyard. It was filled with tents, and healers rushed between them. There were eyes upon them as well, dozens of eyes, all glinting with the desire for good news that he could not give.

The two of them hopped off the carpet, and Caspian helped move Aquaria into Ali's arms. His sister barely stirred, and the only sound that came from her was the sound of her labored breathing. _The fight took much and more from her._

"Get… get her inside," said Caspian, "Quickly."

Ali nodded, taking off as quickly as he could with Aquaria in his arms, and Caspian breathed a sigh as he began to seek out the nearest available healer. Much as he would love to let his sister heal naturally with time, that was something they did not have. Ursula would reach them in a few days and, to be perfectly honest, they were royally screwed with Aquaria's power.

He rounded a corner, lost in his thoughts, and something slammed into him with such force that he nearly lost his balance. Staggering, he blinked, and feeling arms close around his chest while wet blonde hair rubbed at his chin.

Lucile buried her face in his chest, and he could feel her sobbing into him as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. His temples throbbed, his muscles ached, and his stomach twisted itself into knots as it screamed for food, but none of that seemed to matter as he leaned into her.

"I'm glad I… I survived as… as well," he said with a faint smile, but for some reason, his words only made her sob harder.

* * *

When Aquaria finally woke, her head throbbed, and the room stank of potions and poultices. She blinked, rubbing at her eyes to clear the grit that had gathered there. She was covered in bandages and, beneath them, her wounds itched and stung. Finally, she forced herself into a sitting position, propping herself up against the headboard.

She was in her own bedroom, she realized. It was a small comfort, but one she desperately needed. From the seashells embedded into her walls to the desk overflowing with scrolls, it was her place, and she had always used it as her escape when life beneath the waves became too much for her. That life, however, was gone. The thought brought a bitter taste to her mouth.

There would never be another Atlantica. The bards would sing of the proud Kingdom of the Depths, and their ballads would tell the tale of the empire that had endured for five-thousand years before perishing in a single day and night. And, they would sing of her as well. Aquaria Starshells, the last queen of Atlantica, she who had led her people to ruin. _I'm sorry, Mother._

"You're awake," said Ali, and she turned to find him sitting beside her window, leaning his head upon one hand. The last time he had looked this tired, it had been during his illness, but there was still a smile on his lips, however faint. It was comforting to have him there. _He came to my aid. They both did. Caspian and Ali, my brother and my lover, they both came to stand with me, and I failed nonetheless._

"If only it was all a nightmare," she said, sinking into her pillows and staring at the ceiling. She swallowed. "I wish it was, because I'd wake and I'd tell you about it, and you'd stroke my hair and promise me that it's all going to be okay."

"I can still make that promise," said Ali. He padded towards the bed before climbing in beside her. He stroked her hair, a wan smile on his lips. "It'll all be okay, Aquaria. I promise."

 _Maybe, once upon a time, you could have promised me that and I'd have believed it, but I'm not that girl anymore, and you're not that boy._

Her thoughts must have shown in her expression, because Ali sighed and reached out to take her hand. For a long moment, they remained like that, both just enjoying the brief stolen moment as her world went to hell, and she breathed a weary sigh. The situation was hopeless. She had attacked Ursula with everything she had. She had drew upon the power of the ocean itself and let it use her as a conduit to strike against the Sea Witch, and Ursula had survived the attack. Caspian had attacked as well, and she had always known he had power over the storms that raged across the sea, but Aquaria had never seen him unleash an assault of such magnitude.

Ursula had survived that as well. Worse, she had survived both of their most powerful spells hitting her at once. In her current state, Aquaria couldn't hope to match her previous assault, and if she wasn't strong enough as she was then, what chance did she stand?

They had already lost, had they not? The Fall of Aquitania would just be a formality at this point. Their fleet was gone. Their armies were broken. Her power had failed her. Caspian was most likely as exhausted as she was. Ali, for all his skill with a knife, couldn't fight an army on his own. He'd never even be able to get close to Ursula without her unleashing her spells against him.

"We're out of options," she said, her throat tight. "Ali, I can't beat her."

"There is one option," said Ali, and his expression darkened as he spoke. His voice was strained, each word sounding ripped from his throat. Tightening his grasp upon her hand, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Rumpelstiltskin," he said. "Rumpelstiltskin."

Aquaria's eyes grew wide. _No… not him._ Yet, even as revulsion filled her, she knew that there was no other choice left to them. She was still a queen, and her duty was to her people. _Whatever the price._ She was one woman responsible for the lives of all those who had survived the fall of Atlantica, and she could not let them down again. It was her duty, her role, the path that she was destined to walk as a queen.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she whispered, saying the name for the third time. As soon as the name left her lips, the room grew cold, and a shiver ran down her spine. Almost instinctively, she pressed a hand against her bandaged stomach, and she could almost see his leer as he reached out to slice her open again.

There was a soft click, and Aquaria stared at her bedroom door, realizing that the key had turned as if on its own. The fire dimmed in the hearth, and a figure stepped out of the shadows. Rumpelstiltskin had not changed at all. He was still a spindly, hunched creature with skin like boiled leather and hands a twisted grin on his lips.

"Well, Dearies," said Rumpelstiltskin. He raised his hands out in front of him, fingers splayed, amusement evident in his voice. "I can't say that I ever expected to hear from the two of you again."

Giggling, he glanced out the window at the storm, and he rolled his eyes.

"Would you look at that, " he said in a voice that was far too cheerful. "I didn't know it was possible, but you somehow made Ursula even uglier than she was in the first place."

"She's still better looking than you," said Ali, his voice colder than the grave.

"What a frosty reception," said Rumpelstiltskin. "You two do realize I'm missing quite the show to be here right now. It's not everyday that someone decides to break into the royal tombs of Arendelle without tripping a single ward, and I was hoping to take in the entire thing. I do like missions of stealth."

"You do realize you're quite possibly the last person in all creation that we'd want to be in the same room with," said Aquaria, narrowing her eyes. Beside her, Ali had tensed at the vile creature's words, and she couldn't deny that she was curious as well. Regardless, she could not let herself grow distracted.

She had learned from her first encounter with Rumpelstiltskin. _Be very cautious. Tie every knot twice. Dot every I, cross every T, and make sure to read the fine print._

"You wound me, Dearie," said Rumpelstiltskin. "Let me guess as to the nature of your problems. You are faced with Ursula and a very large army of Naga, and the poor bitch has been mutated beyond imagination by consuming that ridiculous stone. So, in your darkest hour, you do what everyone is this sorry world does. You call on me. Of course, you spit on me at every other moment in time, but you still call on little old me, don't you?"

Aquaria opened her mouth to say something, but Rumpelstiltskin smirked in her direction, silencing her at once.

"How's your stomach doing, Dearie? I'm rather curious. I don't often have repeat customers."

"I wonder why," said Ali. "Cut the shit, Rumpel. We didn't call you so we could shoot the breeze." He was tense, and if looks could kill, then Rumpelstiltskin would already be dead and cremated.

Aquaria swallowed, unable to speak. There was so much she wanted to say, but no words would leave her, no matter how hard she tried. She had thought she was stronger, but the sight of that creature… It all came rushing back. The contract signed with a drop of her own blood, the knife as it had glided across her belly, the blood and the screams and the pain.

"I have no idea," said Rumpelstiltskin with a shrug. "A deal with me is worth more than all the gold in this world, after all. People get from me whatever it is that they ask for, but it's never enough to satisfy them, is it?"

"Your gifts are poisoned," Aquaria managed to say, her words strained and garbled.

"Gifts?" asked Rumpelstiltskin. "No, Dearie, that's your mistake. I don't give gifts. I make trades. A life for a life. A soul for a soul. Whatever you ask for is yours, but you always need to pay the price."

"Your price, you mean," said Aquaria. "You wait for us to be backed against the wall, when you're the only choice we have left, and then you demand whatever causes the most pain in payment. Your gifts are poisoned because the price is always paid in blood and tears."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "I did nothing, Dearie. You were the one who summoned me that night in Agrabah, and it was all because you couldn't bear to let your beloved die. You were the one who agreed to the deal. You were the one prepared to pay the price. You're angry, which is perfectly reasonable, but your anger is misdirected at me. I'm just the instrument. You're the one who played the song."

Aquaria glared, feeling as though he'd just slapped her. _What choice did I have? Let Ali die? Let his parents become Faceless? Let all of Agrabah perish from the plagues? Abandon tens of thousands of people to a fate that was worse than death?_ She gritted her teeth. He could paint it with whatever pretty colours he wanted to, but she was not the first princess in history to run afoul of Rumpelstiltskin. For a tiny creature, he cast a very long shadow over history, and his price had been paid and paid and paid until entire rivers of blood had been spilled in his name.

"Now, are the two of you going to keep glaring at me, or are we going to make a deal?" asked Rumpelstiltskin. "Even while I dally here and shoot the breeze, a hundred different voices are calling out my name, and they're quite disappointed when my boys show up instead of me. Good lads, though. They do a very good job when it comes to handling the minor deals."

Tucking that brief flicker of information away for later, Aquaria glanced at Ali. It was not to late for them to back out. Ali gave her a stiff nod, his expression grim, and she clenched his hand beneath the sheets.

"Kill Ursula. Destroy her armies. Save Aquitania," she said in as bold a voice as she could muster. "This is what I want. Name your price to fulfill my demand."

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin surprised him by bursting into laughter. Ali had expected a dozen different prices, from his life to Aquaria's life, to their second born child, to the trident itself, but he had not expected laughter. Rumpelstiltskin seemed beside himself, doubling over and clutching at his knees, his entire frame rattling as his cackles echoed across the room.

"Dearie, to do something like that, I'd need you to pledge every firstborn child born in both your kingdoms for the next decade," said Rumpelstiltskin, tears of mirth in his eyes as he straightened up.

Ali stared, his mouth growing dry as a bone. He knew that the situation was dire, but for it to be this bad? For the price to be this steep? It was madness. He could never agree to something like that, not even for Aquaria. He would sacrifice for her until he had nothing left to give, but his people… their lives were not his to barter with. It had to be a cruel jest. To consider otherwise was nothing more than insanity.

"I cannot pay that price," said Aquaria, her face draining of colour. Ali squeezed her hand, knowing that the same thoughts that had just flowed through his mind had likely gone through hers as well.

"Of course you can't," said Rumpelstiltskin.

The imp snapped his fingers, and a chair appeared from thin air. Settling down in it, he drew a dagger from his belt, twirling it between his fingers with a strange look in his yellow eyes. The fire ebbed lower in the hearth, becoming nothing but embers, and the wind howled outside the castle as the room grew so cold Ali's breath began to fog.

"You are quite lucky that I hold a personal grudge against Ursula for her latest perversion," said Rumpelstiltskin. "You are quite lucky indeed. Ask me one question, and I will answer it, and once you know what you are facing, you will be able to ask for something more… affordable."

Ali frowned. He had been expecting many things, but this meeting was going in a way that he doubted anyone could have predicted. _Three questions…_ There were a great many things that he wanted to ask the creature. _Where is my child? Will Agrabah come under attack? Why did Carpet return to Agrabah without Christopher or Jessica? Why is Pitch doing this? Why is Tsar Luna not stopping him? How do I kill Ursula? Why is Ursula so powerful? What is going on in the tombs of Arendelle? Who are you, Rumpelstiltskin? What is your true name? Why do you hate Ursula? What perversion?_

The list went on and on and on, and Ali doubted if it would ever find an end. Yet, he knew that this was a rare gift, and it had to be spent wisely.

"Does Ursula's power come from the red jewel upon her throat?" asked Aquaria, her lips pursed.

"Very good," said Rumpelstiltskin, sounding vaguely impressed. "The Heart of Mother Nature is a very, very powerful artefact indeed. Corrupted by Pitch, consumed by Ursula… it is the source of her power and… ability to withstand such grievous injury, for want of a better word."

"Destroy the gem and her invulnerability ends, is that it?" asked Ali, raising an eyebrow. "She'll likely die of her injuries as soon as it's gone."

"No. We can't destroy the gem," said Aquaria, shaking her head. "It's the Heart of Mother Nature. Destroy it and we destroy nature itself… No, it just needs to be removed from her."

"And how do you propose we do that when her skin is thick enough to resist Caspian's lightning?" asked Ali. "I barely got my knife into her before she swotted me away, and I didn't need to carve out a bloody gemstone."

Almost as soon as the words left his lips, understanding dawned. It was right in front of them, spinning between Rumpelstiltskin's fingers. _He really does hate her,_ thought Ali, _he isn't even trying to be subtle at this point._ A thought sparked in his head… _The old legends…_ _Who is Rumpelstiltskin, and why does he care so deeply for Mother Nature?_

"Rumpelstiltskin," said Aquaria. "Give me your dagger."

"This old thing?" Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, and he raised his dagger into the air. He leaned forward in the chair, his yellow eyes glinting like pools of molten gold. "Purify the Heart of Mother Nature, and it's yours to use."

"Oh, is that all?" asked Ali, fighting the urge to scoff. "How in Tsar Luna's name are we going to be able to purify the heart before cutting it from her." This entire thing was becoming nonsensical, and it was giving him a headache.

To his surprise, it was not Rumpelstiltskin who answered. Instead, it was Aquaria. She turned to glance at her trident, and resolve seemed to settle into her spine as she did so. Turning back towards them.

"A willing sacrifice," she said, and her voice was firm. "Is that it? A soul for a soul, a life for a life, to get one thing, you must something of equal value."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded and Ali's heart sank.


	47. Aquaria

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty**

 **Aquaria**

* * *

"I read the fine print before I signed," said Aquaria. "The deal only comes into effect if I first purify the Heart of Mother Nature, so all the deal does is give us another option in dealing with Ursula."

"An option we can't take since it means you sacrificing yourself," said Ali, throwing up his hands as he paced the room. "Tsar Luna above, Aquaria, there has to be another way."

 _There isn't._

She had thought that the knowledge would bring her sadness, but it gave her an odd sense of closure instead. How many people in this world could safely say that they knew exactly when it was that they would die? At least, forearmed with the truth, she could make her farewells and conclude whatever business she had left unfinished. It was… a fitting end for her. She had been the queen to lead her kingdom to ruin, and it was only fair that she be the one to sink alongside it. _The captain goes down with their ship, and my ship has always been my kingdom._

"All we need to do is cut the gem from her," insisted Ali. "We can do that. I can fly Carpet in really close if you give me a distraction, and I can cut it free. Then she either dies of her wounds or we let your brother unload another barrage of lightning into her."

Aquaria smiled before raising her hand over the glass of water upon her bedside table. Light flickered at her fingertips, and she screwed up her face in concentration, willing the droplets of water within the glass to stir themselves into a wave. Ali watched, looking confused, and his expression fell as he realized what she was showing him.

Beads of sweat ran down her brow as the light around her fingers flickered and died. Nothing had happened. There hadn't even been a ripple.

"I don't have enough left in me to summon so much as a puddle," she said. "I can no more distract Ursula than I can turn back time."

"Then Caspian distracts her and I cut out the gem," Ali argued. "There has to be another way that doesn't involve you dying." Furious tears fell from his eyes, and he slammed his fist down upon the table, upsetting the glass. It shattered upon the ground, and he looked like he wanted to scream.

"We are out of options, Ali," she said. "We can hope for the best, but we have to prepare for the worst." _I tried so hard, Ali, don't you see? I fought her at every turn. I gave my all. I fought with everything I had and more. I have to beat her. Whatever it takes. Whatever the price. I cannot let her win._

He lashed out, grasping her by the shoulders and yanking her to him so that their faces were inches apart, and she had never seen him so furious. His eyes glowed like hot coals.

"And then what? And then what, 'Ria? We kill Ursula, and what do I do after that? What do I do in a world without you? I've loved through it all. Do not expect me to stand here and watch you die." Tears ran down his cheeks, and he was screaming at her, half in desperation and half in fury, and her own eyes grew wet.

"You return to Agrabah," she whispered. "You become the Sultan you were born to be. You find a woman who does not bring you all the grief that I have. You have children and you grow old, surrounded by a wife who makes you laugh and children who put a smile on your face."

 _This is the real price, isn't it? It was never my firstborn. It was never my kingdom. It was never my people. It was me. I have you, Ali, and you're all that I have now._

This was her penance for each and every one of her sins and her failures. In the back of her mind, she could hear a small voice whispering to her. _You've given up,_ it told her, but it was a lie. She was tired, but she hadn't yielded. She was simply willing to pay the final price, to atone for her sins. There was no other hope of victory. In the end, she would save her people.

She just wouldn't be there to see them when it was all over.

"You're the one I want to grow old with," said Ali, his rage seeming to collapse in on itself. "You, Aquaria. Nobody else. Please. Please. There has to be another way."

She closed her eyes. _He will never accept this is the way it has to be_. Very well, then. What was one more sin upon her heart during her last hours?

"Fine," she lied, looking up at him. "Tell me, what can we do? I'll do it. I'll live and we'll beat her in some other way."

Ali looked at her and a flicker of joy crossed his eyes before disappearing as quickly as it had come. His face fell, and he leaned in to press his brow to hers, and his tears dripped onto her face as his chest heaved. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her close, and he pressed his lips to hers. It was a soft kiss, devoid of their usual frenzy, but it was one of the sweetest they had ever shared.

She winced, her injuries throbbing as she returned the kiss, and tears flowed freely from her eyes as she held onto him. Her fingers ran through his silky hair, twirling the strands in that way she loved, and he lifted her into his lap. It hurt to move, but she wanted nothing more than to be close to him. One last time, she wanted to feel him, to taste him, to remember what it was like to lose herself in his arms.

Ali broke the kiss, leaning his brow against hers, and his gaze was like broken glass. He sighed as he drew her down upon the bed, one hand on the nape of her neck with the other upon the small of her back.

"You forget," he whispered. "I always know when you're lying."

* * *

"I thought I'd find you here," said his sister, coming to sit beside him on the bench beside the castle's saltwater fountains.

Caspian didn't say anything. He'd come here to be alone with his thoughts, in this quiet place that had so far been untouched by the war. Here, the waters were still and the marble statues were quiet in their judgement of him. With everything that was going on, it hadn't occurred to him that anyone would find him here. Yet, Aquaria knew him despite everything, and she knew his haunts.

"I figured… figured you'd be with Ali on… on this last night," he said, glancing out across the pools. Beneath the surface, dozens of anemones unfurled in the moonlight. Schools of tiny fish swam through the carefully planted coral. This underwater garden that his father had planted to stop their mother growing homesick whenever she had to spend her days away from Atlantica… it was all that remained of their home.

"He's asleep," said Aquaria, her voice taking on a strange tone. "Lucile?"

"Asleep as… as well."

Aquaria nodded, not quite looking at him as she spoke. He followed her gaze, and his throat grew dry as he saw the statue. He had been avoiding it since coming here. It was white marble, and the sculptor had known his subject well whilst shaping the stone. His mother was younger than he had ever seen her, and there was an innocence in her stone eyes as she looked out across the garden, her trident in one hand and the other holding her father's hand. They had both been so young… young and brave and without a care in the world.

"Do you think she's proud of us?" asked Aquaria.

"Proud," said Caspian, and it was the truth. _She loved us and she did her best._ He hung his head, his hands upon his knees. "And sad."

The memory of her tears echoed within his mind. Beneath the sea on the shores of Eléadoré, she had appeared for him in all her ravaged beauty, and her eyes had held the sorrow of an entire world as she raised him from the deep.

"Do you remember when we were children and we'd play in this garden?" asked Aquaria. "I think it's one of the only times I ever saw her smile."

"I remember," said Caspian. "You were always… always afraid of getting stung by the… the jellyfish, and Father had… had to have them moved to a… a separate fountain before you'd even… even put a toe into the pools."

"You're one to talk." Aquaria sounded as if she was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. "You were scared of the goldfish."

"They're mean… mean little sons of… of bitches," said Caspian, shaking his head and pretending to shudder, his lips curling up in a smile. "I promised myself that… that when I was… was king, owning goldfish would be… be illegal in Aquitania."

"Cauliflower as well, if I remember." Aquaria's laugh was choked with emotion. "You hated vegetables more than Sebastian hated being mistaken for a lobster."

Caspian laughed, and a thousand memories crossed his mind. They had been happy once, both of them. It was so long ago that it may as well have been a different life, one in which they'd never been hurt. His hands trembled as they always did, but for once, he barely felt them move.

"Good old Sebastian," he said. "He always complained that… that at his… his age, he should be re… retired and getting a tan on… on a faraway beach, playing sea… sea gold…"

"And sipping a tuna colada," finished Aquaria, a tear running down her cheek as laughter flowed from her lips. "He more deserved after all he put up with when it came to the two of us."

"He's with… with Flounder and Sir Urchin now, and… and they've both found their… their way to… to that beach," said Caspian. "After all they… they did, they deserve that… that much at least."

The mood grew somber, but it couldn't be helped. There were many good memories to draw on, but each and every one of them had been steeped in grief. Atlantica… it had been more than a kingdom to the two of them. It had been their home, and they had known the people who had lived there for their entire lives. Flounder and cuddled with them as they'd gone to sleep as children and Sebastian had always been there with sage advice, ready and willing to turn a blind eye to whatever mischief they were up to. _Sir Urchin taught me how to use a sword._

"Ursula will pay for what she did to them," said Aquaria. Her tone was grim, and she reached out, offering him her hand. "She will pay in her life's blood."

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Caspian accepted, winding his fingers with hers as they both remembered and grieved. There was no jolt of panic that ran through him, because this was Aquaria, and she had sought permission before taking his hand. Instead, there was a mutual desire welling up within them as they sat side by side in the quiet garden, thinking of the ones that they had lost.

"It's the… the only thing we can do… do for them now," said Caspian. "We give them their… their vengeance. We kill Ursula, and we… we avenge Atlantica. Their sacrifices will not… not be in vain." _I'll give it all I have and more._ It was a cold night, but there was a fire within his chest, warming him as he sat there. _I'll kill the bitch for Mother, for Urchin, for Sebastian, for Flounder… for Atlantica and for Aquitania, and for all those who gave their lives to stop her. I don't know how I'll do it, but I'll do it._

"There's a plan, Caspian," said Aquaria, leaning back on the bench and staring at the sky. "Earlier tonight, Ali and I called upon the aid of a very old acquaintance. He told us what we need to do."

With that, she began to explain, and Caspian's eyes grew wider and wider as she spoke. His brows disappeared beneath his fringe, and he clenched his fists at her words. It made sense what she saying, and it horrified him as well. He had never been a good student, but he had learned a few things in his time nonetheless, and the Heart of Mother Nature was sacred. To find that it had been profaned and used for destruction… It angered him.

Then, his sister said a single word, and he began to shake his head. No, that was not how it would end. There had another way. No. No. No. Why was she so calm? It made no sense. Sacrifice? She could not mean it? He refused to believe it.

And, then he understood what this night was. She was not sure to reminisce or simply because she'd had a whim to see him. Aquaria had come to the garden to say goodbye.

* * *

Aquaria stood atop the battlements, leaning upon the trident for support. Her armor hid her bandages and her hair hid her scars, but there was no denying that she could barely walk. _Still_ , she thought as she glanced at the remnants of her army standing behind her, _they do not know that._ So long as she held firm, they would be inspired by their queen, and she could not afford to show weakness.

Ali stood on her left, his expression as grim as the stormy sky. Caspian stood at her right, his eyes downcast, and she could tell that his mind was still within the castle, with Lucile in the makeshift field hospital that the courtyard had become. _I was able to say goodbye. Was he?_ She wanted to hope for the best, but the truth was that many of them would die on this day. Ursula was powerful and her army was too numerous to count. It would be a fight for their lives from beginning to end, and her brother was almost as exhausted as she was.

"You look like your mother," said her father, coming up to stand beside her. He rested a mailed hand upon her shoulder, and she could feel his weariness. "You wear her crown well."

Aquaria nodded, not trusting herself to speak. If she spoke, she would break, and she needed to stay strong. Her grip upon the trident intensified, and she stared out across the roiling sea as the rain stung her eyes. Her father relinquished his grasp upon her before moving to take his place along the walls with his men. It was good to see him outside the castle, she thought, clad in his armor with his cutlass at his waist and a crossbow in his hands.

A shrill scream tore through the air, and Aquaria whipped around, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of the tentacles bursting from the sea. They were thick and black, dripping blood and covered in burns, and they wrapped around the twin towers on either side of the harbor like massive serpents. Ursula rose from the depths, monstrous and gargantuan. Her eyes were hollowed and leaking pus, her body covered in scorched flesh that had begun to rot. Seawater and green sludge poured from the gaping hole in her chest where her heart should be, and the gem upon her throat pulsed a sickening red as the Sea Witch raised her arms. Thunder cracked across the sky, and Aquaria squeezed Ali's hand.

"I love you," she said, and without waiting for him to respond, she dove off the walls to land in the canal below. Her legs shifted as she struck the surface, fusing to become her tail, and she whipped through the water as quickly as she could. Whenever she broke the surface, she could hear the shrieks of steel meeting steel and the twangs of crossbows.

"Fools," bellowed Ursula, her voice twisted and magnified until it was more deafening than the thunder. "Your paltry resistance cannot stop me. Nobody can stop me now."

With a sharp crack, one of the towers cracked beneath her tentacles and collapsed into the sea. More tentacles rose into the sky, slamming down upon the city to level dozens of buildings as a time, and she could hear the hissing of the naga as they came ashore, their serpentine bodies slithering across the sand. Soldiers were charging to block their path, and the screams were getting louder. Men shouted and fought and died, and blood flowed through the streets of Aquitania.

 _If Tsar Luna is good, Caspian and Ali will already be in position._ Aquaria raised the trident as she burst forth from the sea, rising up on a spire of water to face Ursula once more. The Sea Witch burst into mocking laughter, and Aquaria grasped at her side, her head throbbing. The swim had torn open her wounds, and the exertion was already becoming too much for her.

Aquaria held the trident with one hand, and she closed her eyes as she concentrated.

"Voices of the Deep," she whispered. "Heed my call. One last time, answer me."

A hundred thousand voices burst into a haunting melody, and she could feel the sea coursing through her veins. It was a raw force, unchained and untamed, surging through her to coalesce within the trident. She threw back her head, her hair coming loose as her crown fell from her brow, and something warm trickled from her nose.

"I command thee, Voices of the Deep, to free the heart of the wrongfully damned. In the name of Olympus and the blood that flows through my veins, I sacrifice that which I must, so that you may rise once more, unchained and unbound, to bring down your wrath upon she who dares defile these seas and all who follow her."

Power surged through her, and the trident glowed hotter than it ever had its life. Blood spurted from her lips as seafoam bubbled from her scales, and she felt a searing heat running down her tail. The pain nearly forced her to bend, but she remained aloft, bloody tears streaming from her eyes as she aimed the trident at the gem.

"What are you—No! No!" Ursula shrieked.

Tentacles slammed against Aquaria, but the sea rose up around her. Waterspouts tore into the sky, blocking the tentacles from striking her, and she could see silhouettes within the waves, hundreds and thousands of them, their spectral eyes twisted in fury as they answered her call.

The trident burst from her grasp, dissolving into a jolt of pure light as it struck Ursula in the throat. It struck her with the force of the entire ocean, ripping through the rotted flesh and punching out the other side in a splash of viscera and sludge. Ursula howled, raising her hands to her throat, and Aquaria felt bile rise to her throat at the sight. A single strand of flesh remained between Ursula's head and her body, holding the gem in place, but it was no longer scorched red. It glowed a brilliant green, so bright that it hurt to look upon.

The Heart of Mother Nature was still fused to Ursula, and she was still drawing upon its power, but it was already over.

Now, the Sea Witch could be killed.

The spire broke beneath her and she plummeted towards the sea. Her tail was split in two, blood and seafoam spilling from her, and she could barely think anymore. Her head ached as she fell, her armor falling away in fragments, and she could barely breathe. Beneath her, she heard the voices of the deep singing to her, calling her home. It was a mournful chorus, and she almost feel spectral hands reaching up from the deep to drag her down.

A pair of skinny arms closed around her as she fell, and she hit Carpet with a thump. Pain shot through her body, and she was barely aware of the world as it spun around her. Her mutilated tail flopped about the carpet as she screamed, and she thrashed around, foam bubbling at her lips.

"Aquaria, it's… it's us," said Caspian, tightening his grasp on her. "Stop struggling. You'll knock us… us all off."

Aquaria gasped, her eyes rolling back in their sockets as her scales began to melt away. It was as if a thousand burning brands had been pressed into her tail, and it hurt so much that she couldn't even scream. Through the pain, she could hear Caspian trying to soothe her, and she could hear Ali barking orders, but everything was spinning and fading around her, all at the same time.

* * *

Caspian clung to his sister as she thrashed in his arms, trying his best to keep her still. If she unbalanced them, they'd be in the sea long before Carpet could swing around to catch them, and it was suicide to enter the water right now. Ursula's sludge-like blood coated the waves like an oil spill, and the currents seemed to be at war with each other. Even he, a merman, wouldn't last two seconds in those waters.

From the corner of his eyes, he spied a flicker of light, and a dagger appeared in midair. It hung there, suspended in nothing for a mere second, and then it began to fall.

"Ali," he yelled, "There."

Ali turned, his eyes narrowing as he spied the dagger. Carpet changed direction so swiftly that Caspian was nearly thrown over the edge, and it took all his strength to hold on while keeping Aquaria steady. _She was dying,_ he realized, but this was not the way that merfolk passed. She wasn't dissolving. It made no sense. Then, he looked up in time to see Ali snag the dagger from the air as they rushed past it.

It was a simple dagger, really, and there was nothing about it that told him it was the personal weapon of Rumpelstiltskin himself. Yet, this was the blade that Aquaria had sacrificed it all for them to obtain, and that made it worth so much more. Ali glanced at him, and Caspian nodded as he drew his sword.

In his arms, Aquaria had stopped thrashing, and she lay still. Her eyes stared into the sky without truly seeing, and her chest barely moved. The only sign of life was the twitching of her fingers, and even that was slowly growing fainter. They needed to make an end of this, and they needed to do it quickly.

Carpet zoomed towards Ursula, and the Sea Witch saw them coming. Her head hung between her breasts, joined to her body by that single strand of flesh, and her shriek was agonizing. Tentacles shot from the sea, aimed right towards them. Caspian's eyes crackled as he called upon the storm and, with the greatest effort it had ever cost him, he released his lightning. Bolt after bolt rained down from the sky around them, striking every tentacle that dared come too close to them, blasting them apart. Blood and aqueous matter rained down upon the sea, and Ursula opened her mouth in fury. Purple light filled her maw, and Caspian's eyes grew wide.

He couldn't divert a blast like that.

Then, a murder of screeching crows flew past him, their wings beating the air as they descended upon Ursula like a swarm of gnats. They pecked at her cheeks and nose, gorging themselves on her rotted flesh, and their talons drew deep furrows across her skin. Ursula screamed, the purple light pouring from her mouth like fire, and she jerked her face around in pain.

Without breaking his concentration in keeping up the lightning strikes, Caspian turned around to look upon the shore. She was little more than a speck from this distance, but he would recognise her brand of magic anywhere. Lucile was watching the fight from the castle ramparts, and he would bet his life that there was a crow perched upon her shoulder as they spoke.

"Hold on!" yelled Ali, and Caspian whipped around just as Carpet pulled into a dive. Clenching one arm around Aquaria, he was forced to sheathe Zephyrus so he could grab ahold of Carpet's tassels with the other.

Wind ripped at his face as they shot towards Ursula, and then Ali jumped. His whip lashed out as he fell towards her, digging into her bloated lip, and he swung across her face. Caspian urged Carpet onwards, ducking beneath the witch in time to see Ali slash through the single shred of flesh connecting the Heart of Mother Nature to Ursula. The gem glowed as it was cut free, and Ali ran along the witch's clavicle to build up speed before leaping back onto the carpet.

He slammed into Caspian, nearly knocking them all into the sea, but they somehow regained their balance as Carpet rose into the air. Ursula roared, fresh sludge pouring from her wounds as her head crashed into the sea, and she began to fall. Her roar began to dim as she fell back into the sea, her tentacles growing slack as she sank beneath the waves. Like a beached sea monster, she lay across the shallows with sludge pouring from her bloated form, still and unmoving, and Caspian could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. It was over. Ursula was dead. They'd won. They'd saved Aquitania.

Aquaria whimpered in his arms, and he felt fresh panic stab at him as he turned his attention towards her. She was badly wounded, but she was a mermaid. The sea would heal her. He was sure of it. It had healed him when he had been very near death. Yet, the sea beneath them was clouded in Ursula's blood, and there was no telling was damage it would do. It could well be this way for miles around Aquitania, and his sister didn't have that long.

"Ali," he said. "Ali, we need to… to get her to… to the pools. The pools in… in the garden."

Ali looked at him in confusion, his eyes like shattered glass. He had one hand on Aquaria's, but her fingers were barely twitching, and Caspian could all but see the havoc playing through his friend's mind as they watched her die between them. The adrenaline that had been pumping through them as they charged Ursula was quickly fading, and Caspian was dimly aware of the throbbing in his own head.

"The garden of… of Aquitania," he repeated, reaching out to shake Ali. 'We need to… to get her to the water. It's pure. It doesn't flow… flow from the sea. It'll heal her. Ali, we… we have to go."

Ali nodded, though he barely seemed to hear him. Carpet whizzed through the air, moving faster than Caspian had ever seen it go. They passed over the sea and the war-torn city, and then Carpet was circling the air as they descended. _It has to work. It has to work. She can't die._ As soon as they were near enough to the ground, he leapt off Carpet and pulled her into his arms.

For a few steps, he stumbled with her, his legs feeling like rubber as weakness crashed over him. Then, Ali was at his side, helping him carry her, and together, the two of them got to the edge of the water. Together, they laid her down in the pool, and Caspian crossed his fingers as the foam and blood washed off her body.

"It has to… to work," he said, more to himself than Ali. "The sea… sea heals us. We're merfolk. It has to… to work." _Why wasn't it working?_ Nothing was happening. The water lapped around her without doing a single thing, but she wasn't dissolving either. _No. Aquaria. No._

Ali had tears in his eyes as he knelt beside her, cradling her limp hand between his. She was still alive. Caspian could feel it. But, that spark of life was growing fainter by the moment. _Why isn't it working?_

"Ian… her scales."

Caspian felt his throat go dry as he turned to look at his sister's legs, and he was certain that she'd had her tail when he'd caught her. She couldn't have shifted in her current state. It would have taken too much energy that she didn't have. Then, it struck him like a hammer to the gut. _Her legs._ Aquaria's scales had always been as red as rubies, and they'd covered her from waist to ankle when she'd worn her human form. Yet, her legs were pale as her arms. _She doesn't have her scales._

"She's… she's not a mermaid anymore," Caspian whispered, falling to his knees. "She's… she's…"

"Human," said Ali. "She's human."

* * *

Aquaria floated across an abyss. Here, there was no water, no air, no land… it was an expanse of nothingness that expanded before her in all directions for as far as the eye could see. Her dress fluttered around her, and she shook her head in confusion. _When had she put on a dress?_ She was confused. She'd last been wearing her armor, though it had been breaking apart when she'd fallen. Was this death? It could very well be.

She did not know for how long she drifted through nothing. It could have been minutes. It could have been years. The darkness coiled around her, and when she opened her mouth to scream, no sound came out. _This must be perdition. I don't hear the Voice of the Sea._ She was a mermaid. When she died, it was her destiny to return to sea and join the chorus of the deep.

Then, she heard it. It echoed through the emptiness and rang in her ears. She swallowed. _No._ As if the void was water, she began to swim towards the sound, unable to stop herself. That sound. It haunted her even as it gave her the strength to find its source.

The laughter of a child.

There was a door in the distance, hanging in the darkness. She swam towards it as fast as she could, her hair streaming behind her. _I'd be quicker if I had my tail._ She closed her eyes, trying to will herself to shift, but nothing happened. Biting her lip, she continued to swim until she reached the door, and the laughter grew louder and louder until it tore at her ears.

Swallowing, she reached out and turned the handle. As she stepped through the threshold, she blinked in surprise. The void… she wasn't in the void anymore. She recognised these cream-coloured walls and vibrant colours. She was in Agrabah.

"There you are," said a cheerful voice that was so familiar that it hurt, and Aquaria turned towards the spot where the door had been. It was gone, but the sight that awaited her broke her heart and then shattered the pieces that were left.

Ali sat cross-legged on the floor, and his smile was dazzling in its intensity. There was a little boy in his arms who couldn't have been older than one, and he was giggling as he pulled on his father's braid. _Tsar Luna, no…_ Tears stung at her eyes. This was cruel. Aquaria stumbled forward, feeling as though someone was stabbing her in the heart, over and over again, and she dropped to her knees beside Ali.

"Ephraim," said Ali, "Say hi to Mummy."

The child—Ephraim—looked up at her with a toothy grin. _He has my eyes._ Drool ran down his chin, and she reached out to wipe it away with her sleeve, which led to another peal of giggles.

"We've been waiting for you," said Ali, looking up at her. "My 'Ria. You kept us waiting a very long time."

She looked up at him, and she froze. As always, his chest was bare, but there was something missing below his left collarbone. A scar. It was a tiny one he'd earned in Amoré, but she knew each and every inch of his body as though it was her own. Where was it?

"This isn't real," she whispered.

Ali's smile turned sad, and the giggles faded. He shook his head as tears filled his eyes. The void swirled around her, the room growing dark, and Ephraim began to cry into his father's chest. Aquaria reached for him, but her hand passed through the child as he crumbled to ash in Ali's arms, and when she looked up, Ali was turning to dust as well.

"It could have been," said Ali as he crumbled away. "It could have."

Then, once more, Aquaria was alone in the darkness. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she fell through the void, no longer swimming as it reached up to swallow her. _It could have been._ They'd had a son. She hadn't known until right now. He'd looked like his father, but he'd had her eyes. His name would have been Ephraim Ababwa...

The ground came up suddenly, and she slammed into it so hard that she bit into her tongue. Blood filled her mouth as she staggered to her feet, and her surroundings were unfamiliar. She was in an elegant room with plum-colored walls and cool tile upon the floor. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the furniture was gorgeous. She doubted if there was anything like it in Aquitania, and there definitely had not been anything quite so grandiose in Atlantica.

Chains clinked, and she turned around. _No. Not here._ In front of her, Caspian stood against the wall with manacles around his wrists and ankles. He was dressed in only his underwear, and there were needles sticking out of his chest, dozens of needles, each weeping drops of red. His head was hanging low, his face hidden by his hair, and the door creaked open behind her.

She turned, and a tall man walked into the room. Half his hair was white and the other half was black, and that was all it took to tell her who this monster was. Damon De Vil padded across the tile, feet bare, wearing only a dressing gown, and there was a twisted grin spreading across his lips as he paused by the fireside.

"Poor Caspian," he said, reaching for a poker and sticking it into the flames. "Have you been crying again?"

Caspian didn't say a word, but his body told Aquaria everything. He hung lower in his chains, his head so slack that she thought his neck may be broken, and tears dripped upon the floor to mingle with the small pool of blood.

"It's okay, Caspian," said Damon, his eyes glinting as he drew the poker from the fireplace. It glowed red hot, and he walked towards her brother with a sick glint in his eye. "They don't love you anyway. If they did, they'd have come looking for you, wouldn't they? It's okay. You'll always be my favorite toy."

He brushed the hot poker over Caspian's thigh, and her brother screamed as he threw back his head. He jerked against the chains, screaming and shrieking, and Aquaria rushed towards them. _I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him._

She passed through Damon as if he wasn't even there, and the lack of impact threw off her balance. She tethered forward before falling into the wall and landing on the other side, and pain shot through her knees as she hit the ground. Bubbles spilled from her lips, and she felt her hair rise up around her. _I'm underwater._

When she looked up, she saw a strange woman sitting upon the throne. Her hair was long and black, falling halfway down her back, and she wore the crown of shells and coral of the sea upon her brow. She had a very gentle face, and her scales were a dusky red. _No…_

"Hello, Sister," said Melody, rising from her throne and drifting towards her. "Have you come to replace me again?"

"I didn't," whispered Aquaria, feeling her sister's hand upon her jaw, forcing her to look up into a pair of hateful blue-green eyes. "I didn't want to. You… I loved you… You were my big sister and when you never came home that day… I cried myself to sleep for months."

"You were happy about it," said Melody, her voice cold. "You revelled in it. You always did think you were better than us, didn't you? Caspian and I? Mother's precious heiress who could wield all the powers of the sea, who could hear the voices that didn't ever speak to us. Vain, Aquaria, and foolish. You did it with me. You did it with Caspian. You were so happy when the trident chose you, you didn't pause to think that this meant it had rejected him. You took the throne that should have been mine and you didn't spare me a single thought. You were mother's precious heiress, and we were just pushed aside. You even did it with Ephraim? What did his life matter so long as you got what you wanted."

"Do you think I wanted that?" asked Aquaria, rising to her feet. "Do you think I wanted to be queen? I was happy to live as a princess, to not have the weight of an entire kingdom on my shoulders. I'd have traded it in a heartbeat if it meant I had my family back."

"Would you?" asked Melody. "I'm not so sure."

Her sister dissolved before her eyes, and the court grew cold and empty. The pillars crumbled around her as the throne snapped in half, and skeletons settled across the floor. Aquaria turned and ran as the roof began to collapse upon her, the mocking laughter of the sea witch echoing through her ears. Bursting through the doors, she slammed it behind her before sinking to the floor.

When she looked up, she wanted to scream. She was still in Atlantica, and the city around her lay in ruins. The dead walked the crumbling streets, their eyes hollow, foam spilling from a dozen wounds across their bodies. She watched in horror as they turned towards her, one by one, and began to drift towards her.

"Save us," they screamed. "Queen Aquaria, save us."

"I can't," she whispered.

"You chose not to," they shrieked, drawing closer and closer. She could make out their faces now. Her aunts, all six of them, and her cousins. Sir Urchin and his knights. Courtiers she and known all her life. Friends she had played with as a child. "You failed us."

"We are dead because of you."

"You could not protect us."

"You watched us die."

"No," she said, backing away. "No, I didn't. I tried to save you all. I tried to protect you."

They clawed at her, their clammy hands closing around her and pulling, tearing at her skin. Their teeth were jagged as they sank into her flesh, and she screamed as they surrounded her, a vicious mob of the wrongfully dead.

The pain disappeared as quickly as it had come, and she opened her eyes to find herself in a grotto. Trinkets lined the walls: a mirror, a jewellery box, a fork, a comb, and in the middle of the room, surrounded by fronds of seaweed was a statue of her father from when he was young. _Is this?_ Aquaria drifted through the water, and a mermaid swam to meet her. Her tail was emerald green and her eyes were bluer than the sea, but it was her hair that gave her away, young and strange as she was. It was red, like fire beneath the waves, and Aquaria's throat went dry.

"Mother," she whispered.

"Aquaria." Ariel smiled, red tears running down her cheeks. Grave-worms crawled from her nose, and the flesh melted from her body until she was skeletal. Like a wraith, the shadow of her mother reached out to run her nails across her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," said Aquaria. "I'm so sorry."

"Deals and sacrifice," she whispered. "Blood and pain and tears. Learn. Remember. The dagger is the key."

"Mother, I don't understand."

"How could you? You can no longer hear the Voice of the Sea," said Ariel, her words slurring as maggots fell from her bloated lips. "The lost can still be found."

Crabs pinched at Aquaria, and she looked down to see them crawling up her legs by the dozens. Red and blue, the crabs clawed at her thighs, cutting deep. She screamed, batting at them as the grotto dissolved around her, and the crabs just crawled higher and higher and higher.

Then, the pain was gone, and she opened her eyes to find herself sitting in a chair beside the fireplace with a cup of tea in her hand. A woman sat in an armchair to her left, dressed in a glittering red dress. Wings fluttered behind the woman's back, and Aquaria's eyes grew wider than saucers.

"It's a funny thing, sacrifice," said the Godmother, pursing her lips. "A very funny thing indeed. You think you know what you're giving up, but it's still never what you expect."

"I don't understand," said Aquaria.

"You were ready to die," said the Godmother, peering at her through a pair of half-moon spectacles. "You _wanted_ to die. Isn't that right?"

"I wanted to atone," corrected Aquaria. "To pay for my mistakes in the only way I could. I failed my people. I failed my family. I failed at every turn. I just… I just wanted to make up for all those many sins."

"Then it was not a sacrifice," said the Godmother. "Which is why the spell exacted a different toll upon you. You, Aquaria, will live a mortal life, and it may very well not be a sweet one. There is no guarantee of a happy ending. This is the life you will live, and you will no longer hear the Voice of the Sea. The depths will forever be closed to you."

"I've become human, haven't I?" Aquaria ran a hand down her smooth legs, and for the first time since waking in the void, she realized that she had no scales. _I'm not a mermaid anymore._ Her throat was dry as a bone, and a strangled sound that wasn't quite human escaped her lips as the truth sank in. _The sea… I've lost the sea._

"Was it… Did we win? Was it worth it?"

"You won," said the Godmother. "Ursula is dead, and she will never rise again. The trident is gone as well, broken into so many pieces that not even I will ever find them all, and with it, the sea can no longer be tamed. The storms of old will form once more, and the ancient beasts will return to their ancestral haunts… those that survived the war, at any rate. It is as it should be."

"Then, it was worth it," said Aquaria, and her voice was sad as she turned away, hiding her tears. To take from the sea was to rip away a part of herself, and she feared she would go mad without being able to hear its lullaby. Yet, what was her own happiness and comfort against the lives of her people? What was her own power against the warmth and safety of all those she had saved?

It was utterly inconsequential.

Taking a deep breath, she dried her tears upon the back of her hand before turning towards the Godmother. She rarely showed her face to the mortal world unless called by the entire council, and in the rare moments that she revealed herself to a single individual, it was because of some matter of great import. Her fairies often acted in her stead, but for her to be here…

"Why are you here, Godmother?" asked Aquaria. "What business do you have with me?"

"To give a warning," said the Godmother, shaking her head. "You see, the trident granted more than dominion over the seas. It also gave life. For merfolk, the twilight of their reign has come. Your powers over water will wane in time. Your children will not hear the Voice of the Sea. They will be born without scales, without the ability to shift. Ursula has been defeated, and Pitch's plans have thwarted for the moment… but victory came at a very high price, not just for you, but for the people of this world."

Horror spread across Aquaria. _No._ Her own life… that she would sacrifice without hesitation. She would have given her everything, but this… _They will sing of me, of the queen who led her people to their end._ She clenched her fists. If what the Godmother said was true, then this was the end of not just Atlantica, but the end of the merfolk as well.

"I wish you well, Aquaria Starshells, in the wars to come. They will only get bloodier from here on out."

The Godmother raised a hand, and the room vanished in a swirl of darkness as Aquaria fell back into the void. She reached out, trying to grasp for something, anything, to keep her from drifting once more. Her fingers closed around emptiness, and then she woke with a jolt on the edge of a saltwater pool.

* * *

"Please don't go," whispered Ali, cradling her in his arms as tears ran down his cheeks. "Please don't."

"I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes widened as hers flickered open, and he let out a strangled sob as he pulled her into an embrace so tight he was afraid he may break her bones. Beside them, Caspian breathed a sigh of relief before slumping back to lean against a fountain. In Ali's arms, Aquaria shifted, burying her head in the nape of his neck as they clung to each other, and in that moment, the world around them ceased to exist. All that mattered was the two of them and the fact that she was alive.

"I love you," he whispered. "Don't ever scare me like that, 'Ria. Never."

"I love you too," she replied. Tilting her head up, she pressed her lips to his, and if their last kiss had been farewell, then this one was everything else rolled into one.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He remembered carrying her back to the castle with Caspian leaning on him for support, and he remembered his friend slipping off as soon as they'd left the garden in search of Lucile. King Eric had appeared then, and he had said a great many things that had passed through one ear and out the other, and the healers had swarmed them soon after. He remembered cursing as they applied stinging ointments to his numerous scrapes and bruises.

Outside, soldiers dragged the bodies of the Naga through the city to pile up on the shores. They'd burn the corpses, someone told him, but he couldn't recall who it had been. The fishermen were out in full force as well, clearing the wreckage from the canals and the harbor, and a dozen or more masons had already begun petitioning the castle to repair the damages. _The men and women of Aquitania were resilient,_ he knew, but he had never quite seen it until today.

The sun crossed the sky as the remaining merfolk spent the day hacking and slashing at Ursula's corpse before tossing the pieces onto a pyre that burned higher than a bonfire upon the shores. There weren't many of them left. Hundreds had followed Queen Ariel to the Imperium where they had met their end beside their queen, and thousands more had perished in the siege of Atlantica. Of those that remained, more than half had died during the defense of Aquitania. Watching them from Aquaria's bedroom window as they tolled beneath the sun was bittersweet.

He lost more time in the hours he spent beside Aquaria. They both hurt too badly to make love as they dearly wanted to do, but it was more than enough to simply lie beside her, one arm on her waist, and look into each other's eyes. Neil would call him a sap, Alyssa would roll her eyes, and even Chris would wrinkle his nose at the cloying sweetness, but he didn't care.

This morning, he had feared that he'd lost his entire world to darkness, and by some strange miracle, he'd been given back the sun.

A sharp crack echoed through the room, shaking him from his stupor, and he looked up with a raised eyebrow. King Eric had promised to see to everything and let them rest, so it didn't make sense that anyone would enter Aquaria's chambers. Then, he saw a flicker of light appear on the bedside table, and he rolled his eyes as sparks danced around Rumplestiltskin's dagger. Beside him, she shifted, pulling herself up into a sitting position with a wary look in her eyes.

"Hello Rumpelstiltskin," said Ali. He was unable to keep the loathing out of his voice as the imp stepped out of the shadows. Reaching out, he clasped the dagger in his hand, thinking it best to keep it where they all could see it to prevent any funny business.

"I see you survived," said Rumpelstiltskin, and his golden eyes flickered as he stared at them. "Somewhat disappointing, but I suppose it's for the best. Now then, I didn't come all this way to chat. My dagger and the heart, if you please."

"What about them?" asked Aquaria, and her voice was sweeter than honey as she extricated the Heart of Mother Nature from her drawer. She held up the green gem, the green light filling her eyes.

Ali gave her a look, not quite understanding what she was playing at, but she squeezed his wrist beneath the sheets. _Trust me,_ she said without words, and he gave her an imperceptible nod in return.

"I'll be having them back now," said Rumpelstiltskin, sounding annoyed at having to say it out loud.

"That wasn't part of the deal," said Aquaria without missing a beat. Her smile grew, and Ali couldn't help but grin at her words. "You said that you'll give us the dagger for the fight. There was absolutely nothing in the contract about giving it back after we were done."

"And," added Ali, catching on to where this was going. "We never discussed what would happen to the Heart at all. You asked that we purify it. We did."

"It's very important that you read the fine print before you sign, Rumpelstiltskin," concluded Aquaria, slipping the gem into her pocket.

The imp's expression was one of pure anger and hatred, but Ali didn't care. They had held up their end of the bargain and the imp had done his part, but that was already in the past. To be honest, it felt very good to screw over the imp. A deal was a deal, after all, and they'd both learned from their last dance with the devil.

"You are making a very dangerous mistake, Dearie," said Rumpelstiltskin, his voice as sharp as a blade. "A very, very dangerous mistake indeed."

Ali rose from the bed, twirling the dagger between his fingers, and he snickered at the elf. The threats were empty. For a being such as Rumpel, he was bound by his own laws, and he could no more bring them harm than Ali could transform into a dragon. Aquaria glanced at him from the bed, a strange look in her eyes, and the message was clear. _Follow my lead. Trust me._ Once again, he nodded in her direction, keeping his cards close to his chest whilst Rumpelstiltskin was in the room.

"What would you say to one last deal, Rumpelstiltskin?" asked Aquaria. "You can have the dagger and the gem, but we want something in return."

"Pay our price, Rumpel," taunted Ali. "Oh, how the tables have turned."

For a minute, Rumpelstiltskin glared at them, his leathery hands balled into fists. Then, an impassive mask slid across his features, and he nodded. The gesture was enough to widen Ali's grin. He'd been playing cards and making bets since he was barely a boy in the taverns and clubs of Agrabah, and he could tell when an opponent had conceded.

Getting one over on the monster who had hurt them both… it felt very good indeed.

"Very well," said Rumpelstiltskin. "One last deal. What do you two want?"

Ali paused. There were a great many things that he had in mind, and he wondered what Aquaria would demand. The restoration of Atlantica? The return of the trident? A potion that could give her back her scales? There was much and more than ran through his head, and then it clicked just as Aquaria gave her reply.

"I want our son back," said Aquaria.

The room went silent. Rumpelstiltskin stared at her, incredulous, and Ali stared at her, a million emotions running through his mind. _It had been a boy._ Was it even possible? He had never heard of Rumpelstiltskin bringing back the dead, but was his son even dead? He reeled, his legs feeling very weak as he sank into the nearest chair. _I had a son._ He didn't want to get his hopes but, but could this work?

"No fine print," said Ali, his throat so dry he could barely form the words. "No schemes. No tricks. No clauses. A straight trade. Give him back to us, Rumpelstiltskin, and we'll give you the dagger and the gem, and you'll never have to hear from either of us ever again."

Rumpelstiltskin stared at him before nodding, his expression growing very strange indeed. It was almost… pensive, but that didn't make any sense.

The imp raised a hand into the air, and the dagger shot out from Ali's hand. The gem burst out of Aquaria's pocket, and both items flashed through the air before finding their way into Rumpelstiltskin's grasp. He studied them for a second, and he snapped his fingers before disappearing in a flash.

The room was silent, and then Ali heard a strange sound coming from the bed. He turned slowly, hardly daring to believe it, and his eyes fell upon the squirming figure that had appeared beside Aquaria, and he could see his own shock echoed across her face. A shock of black hair poked out from the hood of a fox-kit onesie, and the sound got louder.

The laughter of a child.


	48. Cost of the Crown

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-One**

 **Cost of the Crown**

* * *

Maleficent circled the sleeping city of Arendelle, beating her wings as softly as she could so as not to arouse suspicion as she searched for the right balcony. Unlike the council chamber, which was noticeable even from a distance, the king's quarters were far more discrete. Had she sent word of her arrival ahead of her, she had no doubt in her mind that there'd be some signal in place to guide her to the right destination, but she'd had no time for such things. There was much and more for her still to do, for the days were growing darker with every passing night.

Finally, she spied the single balcony in which a light still burned behind the glass doors, and she sniffed at the air for confirmation. Satisfied upon catching a whiff of his distinctive scent, she began making her descent. A cloud of green smoke enveloped her as she landed upon the balcony, her body coiling into itself as she returned to her mortal form. Rolling her neck to ease the stiffness, she knocked upon the door with her staff, hoping that she hadn't surprised the poor boy too much with her sudden appearance.

"Come in, Maleficent," said King Nicholas.

Maleficent raised an eyebrow, slightly perturbed by the weariness in his voice. The poor boy sounded exhausted. _Who can blame him, really?_ That business in Corona had been a very messy affair, to say nothing of everything that had befallen Arendelle during the past few months. There had been Amoré as well, and Maleficent could still remember the way King Nicholas had looked after his fight with Odile. There were very few things in this world that could turn her stomach but that… that had come very close indeed.

Opening the door, she walked into the king's study to find him sitting at a desk overflowing in scrolls and documents. Behind him, shelves sagged under the weight of dozens of ledgers, and the decanter in front of him was almost empty. The dark circles beneath his eyes stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin, and she could just detect a fresh crop of bruises beneath his collar. _Strange, he should have healed from Corona by now…_ Her eyes widened momentarily, and had she been a lesser woman, she was certain she would have blushed. Those were not bruises.

Morgan had always been a bit of a biter…

"I've been expecting you," said Nicholas, looking up from his papers. "I didn't expect you to arrive this late."

"Expecting me?" asked Maleficent. "I sent no word."

"You didn't need to," said Nicholas, gesturing towards his staff. "The winds of Arendelle tell me all I need to know about who enters my kingdom."

"Impressive," said Maleficent, regarding the young man in front of her. He really had grown into himself since their first meeting. Strangely enough, the thought filled her with a touch of sadness. _He should have not grown up so quickly. None of them should have._ She started, wanting to pinch herself for her brief lapse into the sentimental. It was not something she was comfortable with, to be perfectly honest, and she never had been.

Still, she could not deny that she cared for the boy, if only a little, and if only because he brought a great deal of happiness to her son.

"Why have you come, Maleficent?" asked Nicholas, interrupting her train of thought. "In the dead of night without a forewarning either myself or Morgan? Is something amiss?"

"What isn't amiss in this day and age, Nicholas?" she asked. "Much of my plans were discussed with your mother and other members of the Council before I left on my mission. Forgive my bluntness, but all of them are now either dead or incapacitated in some fashion. Truthfully, we are on the losing side of this war, but I have already thrown myself and Morgan in with you lot, and even if I were to seek greener pastures, Morgan would never abandon you to follow me."

Her son had once told her that King Nicholas was very fond of honesty, no matter how brutal the truth was, so she held nothing back in her words. For good or ill, their fates were all intertwined, and it would be much easier to move forward if they were on the same page.

"I've told you before that you should call me Nick," he said, raising a hand. "And I understand that the alliance you was with my mother, but she isn't here anymore, and I'm not her equal. But I can try to be."

 _That's right,_ she thought. That night on the ship bound to Aquitania. It felt like it had been a lifetime ago. So much had changed in so little time. _What was it that you said to me that night, Alice, all those decades ago? The world is getting smaller, is that right?_

"True. Now, back to business," she said. "I trust you've already received word from Aquitania?"

"Indeed." Nick reached for a scroll half-hidden in the pile of parchment on his desk, and she could see the broken wax seal of King Eric on the furled edges. "Ursula is dead, and the seas are once more traversable."

"All for the price of an entire civilization that was old when the world itself was young," said Maleficent. "Not all victories are wins, you know."

"Believe me, Maleficent, I know that well enough." Nick furrowed his brow. "Hans' attack on Arendelle were the end of the trolls. Gothel's campaign in Corona cost us the last light of Tsarina Stella. We're winning small victories, and we're losing because Pitch is picking us off one at a time."

 _Very astute of you, Nick. I was right to come._

"Allow me to tell you a little story, Nick," said Maleficent. "When I sought to destroy Aurora of Tenebrae, I had a minion of my own. Diaval, I'm sure you've heard of him. He trusted me and he believed in what I was doing, but King Stefan was a crafty old bastard. I could never get near enough to him to destroy him, and so I concocted a plan. I had Diaval lead an assault from the front, and when Stefan's guard was down, I ripped off his head with my bare hands."

"And Diaval did not survive," surmised Nick. "You sacrificed your pawn to achieve a victory over Tenebrae."

"I'd do it again if I had to," said Maleficent, and she meant every word. "He was a good and loyal man, but our forces were hopelessly outnumbered. There was no chance of him surviving that attack. I let him think he had one, of course, and he marched to his death on my command. That is what Pitch is doing, Nick. These idiots that he's called to his side don't matter to him. Ursula? Gothel? Tremaine? Hans? Odile? They're disposable pawns in his game, and he's throwing them at us knowing that they aren't going to succeed. They're just going to weaken us enough that he mop us all up when it's done."

"Or to get what he wants," said Nick, and his gaze was thoughtful. "Gothel did what she needed to do by bringing Corona to its knees, and Pitch got what he wanted when Cornelius turned Faceless. At least that power is forever out of his grasp. Tsar Luna took it with him."

"A relief, but Tsar Luna is not eternal. You know I have been travelling as of late, and what I have discovered is not good. Before Corona, I travelled to Olympus to speak with an old and annoying acquaintance. Hades, I'm sure you've heard of him as well. He's dead. As is all of Olympus. Pitch's handiwork. After discovering this, I travelled far to the west in search of another acquaintance. This one you don't know and likely haven't heard about either, but she's been trying and failing to take over a place called the Kingdom of the Sun for decades now."

"I thought Corona was the Kingdom of the Sun," interrupted Nick. "Seems a bit unoriginal for there to be two kingdoms of the sun. One should have chosen the moon or something. I mean, we have Arendelle, the Kingdom of Ice and Snow, and it's the only one. Even kingdoms that are similar don't really share a title. Seems a bit silly, I think..."

"Nick," said a voice from the doorway. "Babbling."

"Right," said Nick, shaking himself. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

Maleficent turned, unable to mask the smile that spread across her features at the sight of her son. It was a pitiful thing for a person to admit, but she saw no shame in acknowledging that he was the only good thing she truly had in this world. The brief reunions they'd shared over the past several months had not been nearly long enough, and being away from him had truly been the hardest part of the war for her.

"As for you, Mother, what do you have to say for yourself?" asked Morgan, pressing a hand to his chest and sounding as though he'd been mortally wounded. "Visiting Arendelle and coming to see my boyfriend before me."

"Theatrics don't suit you, Morgan," said Maleficent, masking her smile with a roll of her eyes. "I've missed you."

As he walked past her, he pressed a hand over her shoulder and squeezed, and she nodded in response. To an outsider, it may seem like a cold exchange of affection, but it was their way all the same. She didn't care for long-winded embraces and delicate kisses upon the cheek. It was rather sappy and uncomfortable, and they both knew it.

"So, you've been to see Yzma," said Morgan as he pulled up a chair to take a seat beside them. "How is the old bat?"

"Dead," she replied. More than that, the entire kingdom had been in ruins when she'd arrived, and the ruined streets had been crawling with Hollow Ones. There were other kingdoms in the unexplored lands across the ocean, but she did not know of many outside the Kingdom of the Sun. To the best of her knowledge, they had fallen as well.

"I take it that you went elsewhere once you realized this Yzma was dead?" asked Nick.

"Indeed," said Maleficent. "I was enroute to Albion when Morgan summoned me to Corona, and we all know what happened there. When we parted, I continued towards Albion in search of the druids of old in the hopes that they would be of some assistance. Unfortunately, because of the detour I made, the Pied Piper was able to beat me there. Their entire order was slaughtered."

"You could have led with that," said Morgan, sucking in a breath. "Losing the druids is a lot bigger than Yzma finally keeling over."

"What did you find in Albion?" asked Nick, waving a hand in Morgan's direction. He was looking at her with a very curious glint in her eye, leaning forward in his seat as he did so. "You wouldn't have come unless you'd found something quiet major."

Maleficent leaned back in her seat as she waved her hand out in front of her, conjuring a drawstring pouch for thin-air. With a snap of her fingers, it clanged down onto the desk, but she made no move to open it. Instead, she gestured for Nick to do so instead. Curious, he opened the bag, and he pulled out a curved knife bearing a very familiar coat of arms upon the hilt.

"This is the Rêvere's coat of arms," said Nick, his voice growing icy cold. "This is King Philip's knife. How did you come by this in Albion?"

"I recovered this from the Piper after killing him," said Maleficent. "Now, there is always the argument that any many can replicate a dagger, but I know that particular blade very well. When King Philip and I first did battle, the fairies of the Enchanted Forest aided him by imbuing both his armor and his weapons with their magic."

Nick glanced at Morgan, and the two of them appeared to be conversing between themselves without saying a single word out loud. Somewhat more surprising, however, was that neither of them seemed surprised by her revelation. To Maleficent, there were only two logical answers as to why. On one hand, they may have already had their own suspicions, but she much preferred her second guess: That Philip Rêvere was such a despicable and detestable man that even his supposed allies had no trouble believing the very worst of him.

"So it's confirmed then," said Morgan, shaking his head. "The Council has been betrayed."

* * *

"I didn't think I'd ever say this, but I'm honestly sorry that it has come to this," said his mother. "I never wanted my fights to become yours."

They were in the guestroom that his mother had slept in during her first visit to Arendelle, and the servants had already been notified as to her presence to prevent a commotion in the morning. Secretly, Morgan was quite glad that his mother had been given a place that was familiar to her, if only because he knew that it would be easier for her to relax. After all that she had endured in the past few months, he thought she deserved a brief respite, even if it was clear that she did not.

"I know you didn't," he said, shaking his head. "We both always knew who my father was at heart, though. It would have always been my fight in the end."

That was the truth of it. He'd been very lucky. As a child, his mother had defended him to the very best of her ability. There had been a few times when he'd still come very close to dying, but she'd always come through for him when he needed her most. Then, when he'd been older and able to protect himself, he'd done so with the sword she'd given him. Now, he was the consort to the King of Arendelle, and he enjoyed a level of protection that not many people in the world could give him.

Yet, at the very bottom of his heart and the back of his mind, he knew that King Philip would always be seeking out a way to permanently remove him from this world. He was a royal bastard of Somnia, and that made him a threat to the line of succession, if only a very small one that even the most stringent of nobles would choose to overlook if given the chance.

"It still wasn't the life I wanted for you, Morgan," she said with a sigh. "If I had known that all my schemes and ploys would come home to roost on your doorstep, I'd have thought twice about half of them."

"In which case I wouldn't exist, would I?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. "I know who you are, Mother. You're Maleficent, the Queen of Darkness, and it may have not been easy being your son, but I've never wished to have someone else in your place. I'm a Thorn, through and through."

Maleficent wore a wan smile as she removed her horned helm and undid the pins in her hair, letting her dark tresses fall to the small of her back. Without her armor and her helm, she looked almost human in dim lighting, so long as one overlooked her pointed ears and eyes of molten gold. Of all the faces she wore, this one was his favorite by far. When she didn't wear her armor and she took off her horns, she stopped being a villain, at least in his eyes, and she became his nothing more than his mother.

"That is very sweet," she said. "Who are you and what have you done with my son?"

He chuckled. "He found himself in Arendelle with nothing to read other than several mountains of romances, the contents of which would make his mother blush."

"I shouldn't be surprised," said Maleficent. "You always had the strangest taste when it came to books. Most of them were so unrealistic I could never get past the first page."

"I liked them that way," he said. Stretching out across the armchair, he stifled a yawn before continuing. "Besides, how can I call a love story strange when I somehow ended up with the King of Arendelle?"

"Touché," said his mother. "That was definitely a surprise. Granted, I always knew you liked men more than women, but I never expected to be the future mother-in-law to a king. I wonder if I'll be invited to Christmas dinners."

Morgan flushed at his mother's words. This was not the first time that she'd brought up the possibility of him becoming more than Nick's lover, but he honestly couldn't see it right now. In the future, possibly, but right now he was content to keep things the way they were. Nick and he… they were still learning so much about each other, and there were still days when he'd lay in bed at night, unable to comprehend and accept that someone other than his mother was able to love and accept him for exactly who he was without a hint of hesitation.

"Mum?" he asked, a flicker of curiosity sparking in his mind. "Have you ever loved someone? Romantically, I mean. I'll understand if you don't want to answer and if it's too personal, but I was just curious."

His mother shook her head, and he did not miss the brief glimpse of sadness in her eyes before she turned away from him. In that moment, he wanted nothing other than to comfort her, but he honestly didn't know how to do so without hurting her feelings or worse. It was obviously a sensitive subject, and… Tsar Luna, he realized, he was beginning to babble worse than Nick when in uncomfortable situations.

Getting to his feet, he wrapped his arms around his mother. For a moment, she stiffened before relaxing into the embrace, awkwardly patting him on the back as if not fully understanding how to react to an actual show of affection. _It was their way, after all._

"When this is over," he asked. "When we've won, what are you going to do, Mum? You won't exactly be able to go back to a life of villainy, you know?"

"To be honest," she said, pulling away from him and returning to running a comb through her hair, "I haven't given it much thought. What do you think I should do?"

"Whatever brings you your happily ever after," he said without hesitation. "I really can't think of many people who deserve one more that you do."

Maleficent paused in her combing and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were wet, Morgan realized, and he felt a tinge of colour rise to his cheeks at the notion that he'd actually made his mother cry.

"Go to bed," she said in a gruff voice. "You're clearly getting a bit lightheaded from lack of sleep."

Still smiling, Morgan patted his mother once on the shoulder before taking his leave for the night. He'd see her in the morning, and they'd talk more. Tonight had made him realize that, despite the new home he'd found in Nick, he really had missed just being able to spend a quiet few hours with his mum.

* * *

The Chapel of Quiet Mercy was known throughout Corona as the home of the best clerics in the land, and the evening found Cornelius wandering the halls in search of a very familiar doorway. Since moving the court, he'd come here as often as he could, even though he knew that it was nowhere near often enough. He was king, though, and even with Alyssa's help, working to rebuild and restore his kingdom was an exceptionally gruelling task. He had done a lot already. He'd appointed new advisors to the royal council to replace the ones they'd lost.

The clerics looked at him with odd expressions as he passed them by, but he dismissed the thought. It had been a long time since a king had visited Solaris, and they must simply be taken aback by his presence. They were a rather simply folk, after all. Besides, they had far more important things to concern themselves with, such as the floor. For some reason, it was warm against one foot and cold as ice against the other, and whatever magic they were working needed work.

Finally, he found the door. Raising his hand to wordlessly dismiss his guards, he turned the handle and forced a smile to his lips before entering.

"Hey Mum," said Cornelius, gently closing the door behind him before taking a seat near the window. "How are you feeling today?"

Dowager Queen Rapunzel stared at him from her bed, her eyes unfocused and glassy, and she didn't say a word. Hanging his head, Cornelius breathed a weary sigh. She didn't know him anymore, did she? He was little more than a stranger to her, someone who visited often enough that she no longer screamed when he came through the door. Somedays, she seemed to understand, nodding along and smiling as he spoke, but on others, like today… _The windows are open, the lights are on, but there's nobody home._

He'd failed many people in his life, but he'd failed her most of all.

"Alyssa is starting to show," he said, "The clerics believe it's a girl."

Rapunzel regarded him with a confused expression, and he sighed again. His shoulders slumped as he leaned back against the wall.

"Alyssa, Mum," he reminded her in as gentle a voice as he could muster. "My wife. We're having a kid soon, do you remember? I told you about it last week. Poor kid. Her father's the worst king that Corona ever had and she's lost all her grandparents before she's even been born."

Again, his mother made no reply, and her expression only grew more confused as she watched him.

"The court is settling after the move. What's left of them, at any rate. We're bringing the nobles who didn't rise for you to heel and we're working to find homes for the refugees who fled the capital. It's just hard. Our granaries are almost empty, and both of our main harbors were left in ruins by the fight. Eléadoré is still at war with us and Amoré… well, there's no use speaking of Amoré now. Arendelle's still there, but Nick has more mouths to keep fed than I do, and I know he's not doing any better right now. I can't keep asking him to bail me out either, you know."

 _Talk to me,_ he wanted to scream. _Hug me and promise me it's going to be okay. I need your help, Mum. I can't do this on my own._

"We laid Dad to rest the other day," he continued, dabbing at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. "Not everyone approved of interring him in Savella, but it was the place he belonged. He was a king."

 _The King of Rogues, they called him, and they called you the Queen of the Dawn. What will they call me, I wonder? The King Who Failed? The King Who Lost Corona?_

"I'm sorry we weren't able to bring you, but the clerics told us it wasn't wise to move you so soon after you'd grown comfortable with your surroundings. They tell me you enjoy spending time in the gardens. You always did like being beneath the sun."

He kept speaking for what felt like hours, even if he knew that, deep down, she wasn't really hearing anything he had to say. There was nothing else he could do. Christopher had already done all he could and even the clerics of the chapel were at a loss as to how to restore his mother to her former glory. If anything, the best hope they had was that they could give her solace in her last years and let her reclaim some semblance of a life.

Somehow, Cornelius felt that it would hurt less if his mother had died in that tower. There would at least have been some finality in that, and he could learn to cope in time. Like this, though, she remained as both a tribute to what his actions had caused and as a reminder of what he'd never have again.

His mother was alive and breathing, but he'd never be able to come to her at night for advice when his heart hurt and his mind was troubled. He'd never be able to sit in her study while she worked through a stack of documents, and he'd never be able to hear her songs. Not now, not ever. She'd hold his children and never understand who they were, and she'd see him be king but never be proud.

Not that he'd done much to make her proud in the first place.

It had been one mistake after another, failures and stupid decisions piling onto each other until he felt like he was drowning again. It wasn't fair that he got to live while so many others didn't get that chance. Hells, he'd been brought back twice. For what? So he could make more mistakes? So he could fail everyone around him _again?_ What had he ever done that hadn't brought harm to the people he loved? Even when he tried to do the right thing, he ended up either arriving too late or making the situation worse. He'd married in secret, upsetting the nobility of his kingdom, and almost half of them hadn't risen against Tremaine and Gothel when they had invaded. He'd rushed to Amoré and risked his life, and he had saved Alyssa, but he'd also nearly gotten everyone around him killed. It had been pure luck that Maleficent had arrived to rescue them all when she did. He'd gathered his army to break the siege of Arendelle, and he'd arrived to find that the battle had already been won. Without the army, the capital had been almost defenseless, and he'd lost more lives in the journey home than he during the actual fighting. Even then, it had been Alyssa who'd turned the tide at Sommersea with her cavalry.

He'd gone to Corona to rescue his mother from a monster, and he'd let himself become one in turn.

 _What have I done to deserve this third chance at life?_ So many were dead, almost all of whom were better people than he was.

It should have been him. It always should have been him.

* * *

"Starvation?" asked Alyssa, staring at General Silvanus in disbelief. "Are you telling me that after all this kingdom has survived, we're now all going to die of starvation?"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you," said Silvanus, resting his elbow on the table and his head upon his palm.

In the wake of all that had happened, the council of Corona left much to be desired. In the hands of the previous treasurer, Queen Rapunzel had maintained a treasury that was overflowing in gold, and all their new one was good for was counting coins rather than earning them. Their justiciar was a greybeard who could barely speak, to say nothing of the fact that Cornelius had not yet seen fit to appoint a new grand admiral or spymaster.

If Alyssa could she would do what needed to be done. In fact, she already had a few people in mind for the position. Captain Liam, for one, knew the sea well enough, and he'd proven his loyalty to the both of them during their campaign against Gothel. Yet, for all her perceived power, she was still just the Queen Consort in Corona, and the true power lay with her husband.

After hours of senseless nattering, she'd dismissed her council, but not before Silvanus remain behind. With the bulk of their remaining army being comprised of Amoréans who were loyal to her and her alone, Silvanus had been an obvious choice to serve on the council as their… well, it was hard to sum what he brought to Alyssa in a single title. He was her general and her advisor, serving as both spymaster and diplomat, and she honestly feared that she might go mad without him there during council meetings.

"Queen Rapunzel left behind full granaries, an overflowing treasury, and almost doubled the agricultural output of Corona during her reign," said Alyssa. "I understand we lost much during the fighting, but surely it cannot be that bad."

"Gothel scoured most of the countryside around the capital. Tremaine's war scorched half the fields between the Eléadoréan border and Sommersea. There are still traitorous nobles in the north who refuse to bend the knee, and we don't have the manpower to bring them all to heel. Our granaries are almost empty and our trade routes have all been lost. Come winter, and the majority of the people who survived the war are going to wind up dead."

"Livestock?" asked Alyssa.

"The biggest farms are currently owned by traitors, and what we do have will not last long once people begin killing them to put food on the tables. In famine, people forget that a chicken gives them eggs every day. They only look at the bird and see a hot dinner that will fill the empty bellies of their children for a few nights."

"And our trades routes have all been smashed to pieces," she added, sinking lower in her seat. "Our remaining allies are on their knees." In her heart of hearts, she knew that she could not turn to Ali or Nick for assistance in this matter. Agrabah and Arendelle had never been fertile, and both kingdoms had buried thousands already. With winter closing in, they had their own hungry mouths to feed, and their resources were stretched thin enough as it was.

"There is DunBroch," pointed out Silvanus. "Perhaps…"

"Queen Merida has not replied to a single letter sent her way since the Imperium fell. She will not bestir herself," said Alyssa. "But… perhaps there is a way. Amoré."

"Amoré lies in ruins." Silvanus raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat confused.

"True," she said. "But my family built our fortune on wine and nectar. The surface of the kingdom may be in ruins, but we learned long ago that it's better to store our crops and produce underground where it's cooler."

"Sacks and sacks of flour and maize," said Silvanus. "Jars upon jars of preserved food. Barrels of salted fish and dried meat. Aye, if the Hollow Ones haven't found their way into Amoré's storehouses, it should all still be there."

"And, with the curse broken, we should be able to travel there by land," she said. With a nod, she continued. "It's still going to be very dangerous. The Hollow Ones still roam the kingdom, and if we cut through the vines blocking the entrances into Corona, they could very well attack."

"The way I see it, Queen Alyssa, is that there is a possibility of Hollow Ones attacking should we take this course of action. However, if we do not do this, there is a certainty that tens, if not hundreds, of thousands will die during famine," said Silvanus.

Alyssa hesitated. _What would you do, Father? Mother?_ What if she agreed to this and another option revealed itself in a week, one that was far simpler and coupled with less risk? If she opened those passes, she could well bring doom to a kingdom that was already on its knees. Where was Cornelius? This should be his call. It was his kingdom. Yet, her husband hadn't even bothered with appointing them a grand admiral because he felt there was no need for one when the sea was still impassable.

The fact that the sea had been traversable again for some time now had escaped absolutely nobody who'd heard his proclamation. He should have known that by now. She had told him after receiving the letter from King Eric, which had been addressed to him but had been left unopened on his desk for nearly a week before she had noticed it.

"We are the Knights of Amoré," said Silvanus, his voice strangely gentle and reassuring. "We follow _you,_ Queen Alyssa, not your husband."

Alyssa nodded, closing her eyes. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she made the only decision that she could, in good conscience, make.

"Have the soldiers ready to depart in the morning, and appoint someone you trust to lead them. Open one pass—the one near the Alterac mountains seems easiest to defend should the Hollow Ones take advantage of this situation. You know where most of the major storehouses are located. Mark it so that they know where to go, but you are to remain here. I need you at my side."

Fisting a hand over his heart, he got to his feet and bowed before taking his leave. Alyssa sank back into her chair, wishing that she could pour herself a glass of wine to ease the throbbing in her mind, but knowing that she could not. For good or ill, she had made her decision, and she prayed it did not bring them more ruin.

* * *

Maleficent frowned at the scene in front of her. A young girl, barely older than twelve, sat at a table that was littered with thick books, stones, bits of moss, and shards of a broken mirror. _This must be the shaman princess,_ she thought. She didn't look like most other princesses her age, but then again, it had always been said that the people of Arendelle were a stranger sort than most. Still, the way in which the girl narrowed her eyes in concentration over the bits of glass and the gentle hum of magic in the air was enough to draw Maleficent's attention.

"Avslør sannhett din," muttered the girl. When nothing happened, her expression grew frustrated.

Maleficent was not quite sure what exactly the girl was attempting to do, and she wondered if she would give up. So many did when something went awry with their initial spell. There usually was another that could be cast which would mimic the effect of the first to a passable degree, and the witch's of today usually relied on those parlor tricks to get by. It was rather shameful. That raven wench from Oloria was a prime example of the wrong sort of witch, as far as Maleficent was concerned.

Anyone with the gift could throw about a blast of magical energy if the need arose, but it took true skill to fashion that energy into a weapon. To nurture it and give it a life of its own, so fashion it to do exactly what it should and nothing else.

The air thrummed with magic, and Maleficent raised an eyebrow at the girl. Magical light swirled around her fingers as she raised her hands into the air, and Maleficent could smell the raw earth in the air. It smelled like the forest after a thunderstorm, and it was very much a shaman's brand of power.

"Avslør sannhett din!"

The girl repeated her initial spell, and there was a bright flash of light. Maleficent shielded her eyes from the glare. When it cleared, she was not surprised to see that nothing had happened. Yet, there the girl went again, raising her hands and calling forth the energy for another spell even as a bead of sweat ran down her brow. Impressive. Very impressive.

" _Sannheten_ ," said Maleficent as she stepped out from behind the shadows. "It's pronounced _Sannheten_."

The girl looked at her in surprise. Then, she simply nodded before jerking her hands forward to direct her magic towards the broken mirror littering the table in front of her, and she cast her spell for the third time.

"Avslør sannheten din!"

Light flared as the shards glowed, dancing around the table as they began to put themselves back together. The cracks threw up showers of sparks before fading away as if they had never been there in the first place, and the gold stitched itself together seamlessly. In seconds, the twin mirror had been repaired to its former glory, and Maleficent cocked her head as she realized she could feel Regina's influence over it.

"I purified the shards of all lingering magic before I began trying to put it back together," said the princess whose name Maleficent could still not remember. "Now, it's just a magic mirror, but it can be a lot more, I think."

"Very clever," said Maleficent. "More than I can say for half the magicians I've come across these past few years. Did your cousin put you up to this task?"

"No," the girl replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Nick told me to stay well away from it after he locked it up, but I was never good at doing what I was told. He'll thank me once I show him what this can do."

"And what is it that this can do?" Maleficent was beginning to nurse several suspicions, but she would rather hear the answer from the girl and avoid knocking the wind out of her sails. _I'm growing softer and softer by the day and I don't like it._ Conjuring a chair, she took a seat beside the table, waiting to hear what the girl had to say.

"So, something occurred to me when Nick got back from Corona. He arrived there two days too late to stop what happened to Cornelius from happening, but it takes three days for a letter to travel between Sommersea and Arendelle, so if he got the message earlier, he'd have gotten there in time."

The girl's eyes sparkled as though she had just made the biggest discovery in the history of magic, and Maleficent was staring at her with mild incredulity. She'd expected something smart but ultimately useless—such as using the mirrors to spy as Regina did, or perhaps developing them into a means of travel by working out the nature of the spells used by Regina.

This was… well, it was something she'd wish she'd thought off. There were two-way mirrors in the world, she knew, but… they were very limited in their magic, and ever rarer besides that. The last pair had been lost when Amoré fell, if she was remembering correctly. Still, why in Tsar Luna's name had none of the members of the councils decided to look into a means of communicating with each other from afar without having to all convene in one location at a given time.

"So," said the girl, and Maleficent realized that she'd been so preoccupied by her thoughts that she had missed out on what the girl had been saying. "One mirror is good. But if I can figure out a way to duplicate them so there's one for each kingdom, and then if I used the same spell to bind them all together."

"Duplication won't work," said Maleficent, slipping into thought. "What you'd need to do is replicate them so they're all exactly the same. Copies are always weaker than the original, but not if they're all the original."

"Easier said than done," said the girl. "Replication magic is very difficult."

"You, however, don't seem the type to shy from a challenge," said Maleficent, raising a single eyebrow whilst masking her smile.

"I'm not," replied the girl. Digging through a pile of parchment, she pulled out a grubby scroll and shoved it in Maleficent's direction. "Here's the duplication spell I planned on using. If I change things a bit, it would become a replication spell instead. "That last word on the second line, for instance. Instead of _forvandle,_ perhaps _gjenskape_ would work better?"

"Yes," said Maleficent, studying the scroll. "And this line here should be removed entirely. You'll need serpent venom instead of serpent fangs."

"Serpent venom would unbalance the other components. We'd need powdered obsidian to balance it. Not something that's easy to find in Arendelle."

"Obsidian would be good," said Maleficent, her eyes glinting. "Dragonfire, on the other hand…"

"Would be much easier to get. Though, your flames might be a bit too potent, you know? Might want to ask Morgan instead."

"Fair and clever, but if you're using dragonfire as the source of the mirror's magic, you'll still need to find a way to make it burn forever."

"I'm a shaman and fire is one of the four elements of nature. Eternal fire is very difficult, but doable."

Maleficent nodded, losing herself in what soon became hours of discussion as they amended the spell, striking out words and replacing them with others. Every so often, she caught herself correcting the girl on the smaller, easier to overlook aspects, and it never stopped surprising her how quick the girl was to take on board her advice. Most people… most people would have run in fear as soon as she entered the room with her first correction, and there were all of two people in the world who could tolerate her presence without growing stiff and stilted: her son and his lover.

"I'm Bryn, by the way," said the girl, peering into what looked like a bag of mushrooms. "Short for Brynhilde, but I prefer Bryn."

* * *

"Alyssa can mimic Cor's handwriting pretty well, but, she can't quite capture his tone, nor can she mask her own," said Nick, pushing the letter across the piano. He leaned against the keys, striking several chords at once with his elbows, and the sound was rough and jarring.

"Not when it comes to someone who knows them as well as you do, you mean." Morgan picked up the letter, frowning as he skimmed over the words before setting it aside. "I personally can't tell the difference."

He was standing across the piano from where Nick was sitting, both too awake to go to bed but too tired to actually do other than just laze around for a while. Honestly, it was nice to have an evening alone for a change. Since Nick had become king, his duties had kept him busy, and there had been more than a few nights when Morgan had gone to bed alone only to wake to find Nick already getting dressed.

"Maybe so," said Nick. "It still begs the question as to why she's answering his letters."

"I'm going to assume they have their reasons given they're probably busier than you are," said Morgan. "Do you think the situation there is as bad as Alyssa is making it out to be?"

"No, I think it's worse. She's just trying not to worry me," said Nick. "I'm glad she hasn't asked for aid. I'd hate having to pen a letter of refusal." His eyes flickered in the candlelight, and he slouched further onto the keys. "You understand, right?"

"You are King Arnadalr," said Morgan. "Your duty is to Arendelle first and the rest of the world second. Your granaries have only enough in them to last the winter, and you have a buffer in the form of whatever you can fish from the seas. I understand. I don't like it and I know you don't like it, but I understand."

"Agna has propositioned that I buy off whatever lands the Summer Isles held on the mainland and fold them into the territory that I directly control. It's a good idea. The rivers are good fishing and when spring comes, and the woods are filled with game. Yuë is new to her reign as duchess, and it would be best that I ensure the capital is well supplied," pointed out Nick. "I always complained that Agna whined about money more than anything else, but Mother was right to make her the royal treasurer. She has a good mind for business."

"Pretty much," replied Morgan. "She's annoying, but she's good at what she does. Has Klaus returned from Weselton yet?"

"He should be back by tomorrow at latest," said Nick. "It was a gamble to send one of my last generals on such a mission, but he's served us the longest of all my remaining soldiers. His name carries more weight that if I sent a common captain in his place."

"Weselton is too craven to truly move against you. I could smell the fear on him when you turned Westergaard to ice. I smelled a bit of piss as well, but I'm not sure that was just him. You can be quite terrifying when you want to be, Frosty."

"Maybe I am," said Nick with a twinkle in his eyes. "But I'm still your Frosty, isn't that right?"

"Oh yes," said Morgan, fighting the urge to laugh. "You'll be forty and fearsome with a grisly beard and a very large battle-axe, and I'll still see you as the skinny dork who played with my ears when we first kissed that night in the gardens."

Walking around the piano, he settled down on the bench beside Nick and wrapped an arm around his waist. Nick sighed at his touch, pulling away from the piano to lean against him instead. Reaching out, Morgan grasped Nick's slender fingers in his calloused hands and brought them to his lips to press a kiss to his consort's knuckles. He knew that Nick had a dozen things upon his mind, each more troubling than the last, but it wouldn't hurt Nick to slip off his crown for a single night.

"Did you read that in a novel?" asked Nick, glancing up at him with a slight blush colouring his cheeks. "It's very sappy."

" _Hero of the Heart,"_ replied Morgan, a twinkle in his eyes as met Nick's eyes. "I read them for the prose."

"You read them for ideas," teased Nick. "Or are we going to pretend that you haven't learned half your tricks from reading those filthy novels."

Morgan chuckled. "Someone has to bring the romance, Frosty, and…" He leaned in so his lips were flush against Nick's ear, and he continued in a whisper, "you never complained about my _tricks_ before."

"Are you saying I'm not romantic?" asked Nick, raising an eyebrow. "I assure you that I can be plenty romantic."

"Remind me, then," said Morgan, masking his smirk at the slightly offended tone in Nick's voice.

Nick huffed before slipping his hands out of Morgan's, and for a single dreadful moment, he wondered if he'd gone a bit too far in his teasing. Nick turned away, and just as Morgan was opening his mouth to apologise, a lilting melody filled the air. His eyes grew wide in surprise. _He's never played for me before._ Nick's fingers danced across the keys, his smile growing as he played, and Morgan leaned his head against his boyfriend's shoulder. He knew this song. It wasn't a popular choice amongst the bards in Somnia, but he'd heard it a few times nonetheless.

 _Love your curves and all your edges. All your perfect imperfections._ Without meaning to, he began to hum along to the piano, and Nick turned to glance into his eyes. _My heads under water but I'm breathing fine._ When he smiled like that, the weight of the crown seemed to melt away, and Morgan could almost lose himself in those dimples and bright blue eyes. _You're my end and my beginning._

"Told you I can be romantic," whispered Nick, and the song began to ebb. "Your turn."

"My turn?" asked Morgan, not quite understanding. "I don't know how to play the piano."

Nick chuckled. He turned quickly, slinging one leg over Morgan's lap so that they were face to face, his smile becoming a smirk as he crossed his ankles behind the small of Morgan's back. _Oh,_ he thought, and he grinned as he reached up to grasp Nick by the sides.

"Your majesty," he said in what he hoped was a scandalized tone. He ran his thumbs across the curve of Nick's waist, and he stifled a ground as his boyfriend rolled his hips. "Do you think a single song is enough to seduce me?"

"Yes," said Nick with a wink. "To be honest, I didn't even need the song."

Morgan's eyes flickered into their draconic form as he rose to his feet, lifting Nick with him. For a second, he stood there, just holding his boyfriend up as a thousand tantalising thoughts ran through his head, and then Nick was flush against the piano. The lid fell with a crash beneath their frantic kiss, Nick's body jostling the keys with every moment. The sound snapped Morgan out of his haze, and he pulled back, panting for breath.

"We're going to break the piano," he murmured. "Bed, balcony, or floor?"

"Bed." Nick groaned, his eyes dark with lust and his cheeks flushed with need. "At least for the first round."

* * *

"I could have used your help at the council meeting today," said Alyssa, pursing her lips as she took a seat in front of her dresser and began to undo the pins in her hair. "Lord Solidor sent us word that he is willing to negotiate his region's return to Corona. If you'd been there, we may have been able to draft a proposa—"

"House Solidor abandoned my parents during the war," said Cornelius, not so much as turning to look at her. "The only terms I'll accept is the heads of every traitor in that family."

Alyssa felt a throbbing in her temples, and she eyed the bottle of wine upon their mantle with a desperation that she had never felt before. After the day she'd had, she needed something to dull her senses, and she'd actually hoped that her husband would be able to take her mind off things, if only for a few moments. Instead, as had become the norm, he only served to increase the severity of her headache.

"Lord Solidor can raise an army that is eight-thousand strong. His castle is a fortress built into a mountainside. He owns the largest orchards in Corona, and he is responsible for ten percent of the taxes paid to the crown. Pray tell me how we're going to take his head?"

"He is a traitor who deserves a traitor's death," repeated Cornelius. "Instead of sending your men to Amoré, we need to send them to root out the lords who abandoned us. Destroy their Houses root and stem."

"Have you not been listening to a word I've said for the past week?" asked Alyssa, ready to throw her hands into the air in sheer frustration. "We barely have enough left in our granaries to last the month, and we're already on rations. My men are working to secure supplies to last us through winter, which is more important than revenge. Those lords may be traitors, Cornelius, but we _need_ their support right now."

Her husband turned to look at her with bloodshot eyes, and she repressed the urge to shudder at the sight of him. He had allowed his beard to grow tangled and wild, and the long scar along his eye was still vivid and red. His shirt was open, revealing the mark that Nick's ice had left, and it was a gruesome one indeed. In all the time she had known him, she had never seen Cornelius look so… messy. He wasn't even wearing both his shoes. One foot was bare and caked with dirt.

 _Wait… dirt?_

"Cornelius, did you go outside looking like this?"

"Looking like what?" he grumbled, rising from his chair. He dragged his feet as he walked, shoulders slumped and head sagging beneath a crown that he hadn't even bothered putting on straight. "I'm perfectly fine."

 _Tsar Luna, give me strength._

"You are wearing the same tunic you put on three days ago," she said, fighting the urge to scream. "You reek of wine. If you don't comb your hair soon, a bird might mistake it for a nest."

"Stop nagging me," he grumbled. "I'm tired."

Alyssa didn't know she had moved until she was right beside the bed, yanking her husband to his feet by his collar. She glared into his eyes, feeling her nails curl into claws as she fought to restrain the beast within. She loved him. She loved him more than her own life, but she was on her last nerve. He didn't show up to most of the council meetings, and he wasn't mentally there for the few he did sit in on. She'd been forging his letters to the nobility for nearly three weeks now, trying her hardest to keep it from them that their king was a shambling mess.

It was exhausting.

"This is your kingdom," she hissed. "I swore that I would rule _at your side._ For fuck's sake, Cornelius, look at yourself. If Lord Solidor and the other nobles whose loyalty is not certain learn that you're—"

"I told you. We take off their heads. Then we march on Eléadoré and kill Tremaine as well. Mother is—"

"Stop it," she screamed, shaking him. "Cornelius, stop it. You think I like having to beg the nobles to return to the fold when I know what they've cost us? You think I'm happy that Tremaine is sitting pretty in Eléadoré without a care in the world? We are on our knees here. Compromises have to be made. We don't have harbors. The granaries are empty. We have no trade. I'm doing all I can but you need to _help me._ "

"Enough!"

Alyssa yelped as he shoved her in the chest, and she hit the ground hard. Pain flared across her elbows as they broke her fall, and she stared in disbelief as Cornelius towered over her. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he simply stepped over her and stumbled towards the door. For a moment, with his hand upon the handle, he hesitated.

Then he left, slamming the door behind him.

Alyssa's throat was dry as she got to her feet. Ignoring the pain in her elbows, she ran her hands along the swell of her belly. _It was fine._ She hadn't fallen that hard. She was still early in her pregnancy, and she had landed on her back besides. Dozens of emotions played through her head. She needed to rest but… she glanced at the bed they shared, and something bitter coiled within her stomach.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she walked towards the bedroom door. As she opened it, she noticed the guard staring at her with a concerned look in his eye. Quickly, she glanced to the emblem on his breastplate. _A rose. Good. Thank, you, Tsar Luna._

"You will say nothing of what you heard," she said, keeping her voice cool and impassive, even as she desperately wanted to cry. "Not a word. As your queen, I command it."

"Your Majesty… surely…" The guard swallowed before fisting a hand over his heart and bowing his head. "As you wish, Queen Alyssa."

"Good," said Alyssa. "Are the maids still awake?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said the guard. "They'll not turn in for another hour at the least."

"Have them prepare the Queen's Suite for me," she said, feeling the first tears sting at her eyes. She turned away. "And remember, not a word of what you heard must be said to anyone. You will tell the maids that my pregnancy is not an easy one, and that my beastly nature makes it difficult to share a room with anyone during such a time."

The guard nodded, his expression grim, but he bowed once more before turning to walk down the corridor. Clenching her fist, Alyssa returned to her room to gather her things. As she grasped her nightgown, the tears began to fall, and she sank to her knees beside her closet, weeping as silently as she could.


	49. Flares

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Two**

 **Flares**

* * *

"Dearest Sister, I pray that this letter finds you in good health," Lucile read out loud, her voice incredulous. "I write to you with an aching heart. It has been too long since I have seen you."

She set the letter down upon the coffee table, unable to read past the first paragraph. These words were a lie. Sinking back into the loveseat, she sighed. At the very least, it was proof that her brother was still alive. There was no telling what he was enduring whilst trapped in Somnia, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered. He was stronger than her, and if she could withstand Hamelin, Jaq could endure Somnia.

"A… a problem?" asked Caspian, taking a seat beside her on the loveseat, his fingers stained with ink.

"This is my brother's penmanship. It is not his words," she replied. "Jaq is not known for his eloquence."

"I… I wouldn't know," said Caspian. "The… the only time I… I spoke to Jaq, he… he broke my nose."

"He always had a temper," said Lucile. She sighed. "I think the two of you would actually get along quite well in different circumstances."

"You mean if… if I wasn't… wasn't a prick?"

"Yes." Lucile couldn't help but chuckle. "You were a prick back then. You aren't anymore."

To speak of the past was like discussing another life. She'd been innocent then, a sweet dove who'd dreamed of fairy tales, and Caspian had fully earned his title. _The Rogue of the Sea._ His exploits were the songs of drunken legends, sailing from port to port aboard the Stormbringer as he searched for the next big adventure in which to drown his own emotions. In those days, his presence had been little more than an annoyance.

Yet, she'd envied him his freedom as well. Caspian Starshells hadn't seemed to have a single care in the world, and he'd always had an insolent glint in his eyes that could have tempted the devil himself. He'd lost that part of himself in Hamelin, but something else had emerged, something that had always been there but had been pushed down until it was hidden to even himself.

And, it was something that she could love.

"Tell… tell me about him. If… if you want… want to talk. I'm here."

A sad smile crossed her face as she sank into the loveseat, hugging a cushion to her chest as she turned to face him. Offering Caspian a hand, she hid her smile when he accepted it, linking his trembling fingers with hers. _Progress._

"My brother was very frail when he was born," she began. "My mother laboured for nearly three days to bring him into this world and she nearly died in the process. I was nearly four, old enough to know that something was wrong, but still too young to understand exactly what was wrong. The clerics called his affliction the wasting sickness. They didn't expect him to live through the month. It was a heavy blow to my parents, and to my kingdom, for my mother was told that she could never carry another child to term after what she had endured."

Lucile sucked in a breath, her grasp on Caspian's hand tightening. "I prayed beside his crib for days, and a fairy godmother answered. I don't know if it's the same one who helped my mother when she was younger or if it was _The Fairy Godmother_ herself, but she fashioned a sword from the original glass slippers that my parents kept in the vaults, and she bound his life to it. He got stronger, and he _lived._ If it shatters, the magic holding him together breaks, and he'll die."

"You… you'd think that… he'd be less…" Caspian scowled as he tripped over the words, and she could feel his veins pulsing beneath her fingers. "Headstrong. Or… or at least use… use another sword when he fights."

"That's Jaq for you," said Lucile. "He was always small. The other boys in the castle used to call him a mouse. He wore it as a badge of honour and took the mouse as his sigil, and he beat each and every one of them in the training yard. When we learned of… reasons which prevented him from inheriting the throne, we were all more upset for him than he was. Instead, he chose to become a knight. Sir Mouse, they called him, and he became my sworn sword."

She closed her eyes, her throat constricting. It was hard to talk about him when she had no certainty of his safety, and she wished he was here with her right now. He'd curl up in the corner of the room with a book in his lap, but he'd look up every so often to glare at Caspian all the same. Taking a deep breath, she banished the thoughts from her mind. King Eric had assured her that he would do all that was in his power to free her brother, and there was nothing she could do for him right now. She had trusted in him for years.

"He… he sounds like… like a good brother," said Caspian, "I'm… I'm sorry, Lucile. I should have… have fought Damon's compulsion that… that day in the forest. He… he got captured then, didn't he?"

"And then I'd have lost you both," she said. "And I'd likely have already been dragged down the aisle and forced to wed Anthony Rêvere for my claim. What you did for me in Hamelin is more than enough."

Caspian flushed and turned away, and she smiled as he lifted his hands. The ink stains were bothering her for some reason, and she wasn't quite sure where they'd come from. His fingers trembled in her grasp. Shifting so that she was closer to him, she glanced at the desk in the corner of the room. Understanding dawn as she took in the snapped quill and open inkpot, and she suppressed a sigh.

"Who were you writing too?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"Nobody," he muttered. "Just… just practising. My hands. They shake too… too much for me to… to write anything." Shame crept into his tone and he hung his head. "I need… need to be able to… to write. I'm… I'm a prince."

Ignoring the pang in her chest, she reached out with her free hand to tilt up his chin so that he met her eyes. Shaking her head, she gestured towards their linked hands. The surprise was noticeable in his face, and she smiled.

"Trembling, but not pulling away," she said. "You're tripping over your words, but it's not as bad as it was a week ago. Healing… it isn't going to happen in a day, Cas. It's going to be slow and you can't be too hard on yourself, but it's getting better. You're getting better."

"Thank you," he said. "Just… just thank you."

* * *

The Saltwater Gardens of Aquitania where quickly becoming their place, Aquaria mused, as she caught sight of her brother sitting beside the pool. She had come here with the intention of finding a moment alone to gather herself before returning to Ali and Ephraim after what had been a very long day of planning with her father, but she had also been meaning to seek out her brother as well. The plan she had brought to her father was a bold one, and to be perfectly honest, it would be best if she was the one to break the news to Caspian now that King Eric had accepted her offer.

Gathering her skirts around her, she made her way towards the bench. It was an odd feeling to walk with human legs, and it was even stranger to wear this many layers over her waist. Yet, she no longer had her scales to preserve her modesty, and she had no intention of exposing herself to the entirety of Aquitania whilst draped in her usual sheer fabrics.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she took a seat beside him, unable to mask her smile when he did not cringe away from her.

"Better," he said. "How's my… my nephew?"

"Loud," she replied. "He's very loud."

Caspian chuckled, reaching out to take her hand. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she accepted the gesture nonetheless. Her brothers fingers trembled, but his grip was strong, and this was the first time he'd been the one to initiate contact with her. _He's healing._ Her throat grew a bit tight at the thought. Her brother had been an insolent wretch, once upon a time, but he'd always been confident as well. There'd been pride beneath his scales, and a brazenness that had gotten him into a lot of trouble as well.

As much as she'd disliked those parts of him, it was good to see some of his confidence returning. It was good to see him heal.

"He can't be… be as loud as I… as I was when I was a… a baby," said Caspian. "You… you once said… said that…"

"I'd smother you in your sleep if you didn't shut up," finished Aquaria. "I remember. You were three, I think?"

"Four," he corrected her. "I still think that… that you left for… for Atlantica to… to get some… some actual sleep."

"I did," she confessed. "I'm glad that my son has something of you in him. Honestly, I am."

"Let's… let's just hope that… that Eph isn't afraid… afraid of the goldfish."

Unable to help herself, she laughed at his remark, and her laughter only grew brighter upon catching sight of his teasing smile. It helped her remember what it had been like when they had been children, and after all that she had gone through, she would take every happy memory she could. Caspian was her baby brother… her incredibly annoying baby brother who'd put his foot in his mouth with every word he'd said, who'd fought to hurt, and who'd been spoilt and coddled until he'd become someone she could barely look at without being angry.

He was her brother: annoying, irritating, and they'd fight and bicker over the colour of the sky, but at the end of the day, he was still her brother. She would always love him, just as he would always love her, and they'd stand by each other even when they were on their last breath. It just hurt that they both had to walk through shadow to remember that.

For a while after her laughter had faded, there was companionable silence. In her mind, she played out what she needed to say a dozen times, but nothing quite seemed right. This was not something minor. It would change many things, and he would likely get very angry if she didn't explain things correctly. Then, she noticed that he was staring at her tiara, and she sighed at the realization that it had given her away.

"That… that isn't your crown," said Caspian. "That's… that's the…"

"It is now," said Aquaria, her voice so soft that it was barely louder than a whisper. "Only a few hundred merfolk survived the desolation of Atlantica, and they've all made their new homes on the shores of Aquitania. What is a queen without a kingdom, Caspian? Tell me truly?"

His silence spoke volumes, and his eyes seemed to cloud over. _No._ She could already tell what was going through his mind, and she could have kicked herself for well and truly putting her foot in her mouth by explaining herself so poorly.

"So…" said Caspian before she could clarify. "Father… Father still doesn't… doesn't trust me."

It wasn't his words that stung at her, but his tone. It was almost as though he'd expected to be passed over in the line of succession, as if he'd hoped that it wouldn't happen but still believed at the very bottom of his heart that, in the end, they'd take his crown away from him.

"I… I knew it," he muttered. "It's not your… your fault… or father's… I was… I was a shit prince… The people, they… they don't respect me. Not like they… they respect you. Not like… like they love you. I taught… I taught them to see… to see me this way. I can't… can't be—."

"You don't understand," she interrupted, forcing as much emotion into her voice as she could. "I don't want to take your crown, Caspian. I want to give you mine."

He gaped at her, looking as though he'd just been clubbed over the head. His fingers trembled harder than ever, and she held her tongue, knowing it was best to give him whatever time he needed to properly process what she'd said. Their father had been critical, to be honest, but she had faith, and it was all that had made sense to her.

The Age of the Merfolk was at an end, and Caspian would be amongst the last of their kind. She was human, and Atlantica was gone. It would be an effort in futility to try and ward off the inevitable, to try and rebuild the Kingdom of the Sea only to watch it slowly die as her people drew near to extinction. Without a kingdom, she was not a queen, not truly, but so long as she retained her crown and titles, there would be those in the world who would use it for their own purposes.

She had done her part for their mother's legacy. Now, it was his turn.

"I… I don't know… know what to say," he said, his eyes flickering towards her tiara.

"You can promise me to do your best by my people," she said. "There aren't many of them left, but Aquitania is the only place left that they can call home. When you succeed Father, you will rule them as well. It's not just the people. You know we had a few villages and harbors under our dominion. These will be your territories as well now. It is time we did what our parents failed to do. Let Atlantica and Aquitania become one."

"They… they tried."

"They did and I do not fault them," said Aquaria. "The trident chose mother, but had she not accepted the responsibility, it would have chosen another. She had sisters who could have ruled Atlantica in her place. Or, when our grandfather offered to make Father a merman, and to let him rule beside her beneath the deep, he could have chosen to remove himself from the Aquitanian line of succession. They wanted it both ways, and it destroyed them. Mother longed for the land and father longed for the sea, and when she died, he had decades of lost opportunities crashing down upon his shoulders. It may be too late, but we can do better."

"You… you really… really trust me with your crown?"

"I do," she said. "I am no longer a queen, Caspian. But, one day, you will be king, and may your reign last much longer than mine did."

Once more, he surprised her. Her brother flung himself onto her, wrapping his trembling arms around her. Embracing him, she ran a hand down his back, feeling the ridge of his spine beneath her palm, and his tears seeped into her blouse. Yet, for the first time in a long time, these tears were not born from pain and sorrow.

* * *

"So I got engaged to a princess, was engaged to a queen, and now I'm engaged to a princess again," said Ali, scratching at his temple. "Huh. Anyone who hears that without context is going to think I'm the biggest player in the world."

Ephraim tugged at his hair, and Ali winced as he felt a few strands come loose. Tsar Luna, his son was a strong little tyke. _His son._ Just thinking the words brought a flood of emotions to his chest. Losing his child had been the greatest loss of his young life, and he knew it sounded foolish given the circumstances, but to just be able to hold the squirming infant in his arms… he couldn't quite put his feelings into words without wanting to cry. There hadn't been a night since Aquaria's deal when he hadn't gone to sleep thinking of what could have been had they never lost their son.

They'd have never separated. He'd have never gone to Corona, and then Amoré. He'd have never met Christopher and been able to build the friendship they now shared. Christopher would never have met Jessica, which to be honest, may not have been the best thing in the world given how the two of them bickered, but that was beside the point. So much had hinged on that one night…

And, now that it was over, he could almost see the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Your mother keeps me very busy, you know that right?" he said to Ephraim. "And she likes my hair. Don't pull it all out."

Ephraim babbled at him, a rivulet of drool running down his chin as he reached out with his chubby fists to pull at another lock of hair. _I should have kept it braided._ Ali winced as more strands were pulled from his head, and his son giggled at his reaction before sticking a hand into his mouth.

A cool hand ran across the back of his neck, drawing his hair together, and he smiled as he looked over his shoulder. He hadn't even heard Aquaria come in, but there she was with a strand of dark silk between her fingers. As though she had done it a thousand times before—and at this point, she probably had—she pulled his hair into a loose ponytail, keeping it safely behind him and safe from their little one's fists.

"Thank you," he said. "He'd have plucked me bald if given the chance."

"It's more for me than you," she teased, coming to sit beside him on the bed. "I do like your hair." Wrapping one arm around his shoulder, she leaned in to tickle Ephraim's nose. He batted at her hand before closing his fingers arounds hers, pulling it towards his mouth. Without warning, he kicked out, catching Ali in the stomach.

"He really does love hurting me," Ali grumbled.

"Just wait until he learns to walk," she said. "You'll be running across the rooftops of Agrabah with him at your side, and I'll be rolling my eyes at the pair of you from the palace windows."

"Dad sent a letter." He smiled, leaning in to steal a quick kiss upon her cheek. "He's thrilled, and Mum's been beside herself with joy since they received the news. I can't wait until they get to meet him."

"They won't have to wait long," said Aquaria. She leaned in, her fingers running down his jaw as her lips caressed the shell of his ear. "I miss seeing you in an open-vest and harem pants."

"It's too cold to dress like that here," he said, rolling his eyes. As soon as the words left his lips, understanding dawned. _Oh._ "Wait… already? Surely you still have things to do here?"

"One of the hardest things in life is to look at a problem that's still being resolved and accept that you've done all you could," she said. "I have done everything I can for my people. All I have left is my skill with a spear and my magic over the sea, and even that is quite limited now that I'm human. I miss it. I won't lie to you. I miss my tail and my scales and the Voice of the Sea in my ears, but what's done is done, and I can only move forward now. And, moving forward means accepting that my fight has been won and my duty to my people fulfilled. My future is with you, Ali, in Agrabah."

He smiled, turning his head to rest his brow against hers. Ephraim gurgled in his arms, grasping at his shirt and tugging at it to pull himself up into a sitting position, and Aquaria reached down to help him up. It was a special kind of perfect, one that he didn't know actually existed outside of fairy tales, and this right here… this was a moment that he never wanted to end.

"Marry me," he whispered. "I am the _Vali Ahd_ of Agrabah. Be my _Shehzadi_."

"We're already engaged," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"No," he said. "I'm not asking you if you'll marry me. I did that a long time ago. Now, I'm asking you to marry me. Tonight. Here, in Aquitania. We don't need a royal wedding. We don't need seventy-seven courses, chests of gold, and singers. We don't need to invite the entire world to gawk at us, and I don't need to arrive on the back of an elephant while merman carry you in on a palanquin. We don't need a white dress dripping with pearls or a _thawb_ that's been embroidered with golden thread. All we need is exactly what we have right now: you, me, and the love we share."

Tears of joy glimmered in her eyes as she closed the gap between their lips, and their kiss was sweet as honey. Her fingers trailed along his jawline, and he pulled her in closer, almost smooshing Ephraim between them in the process. He squirmed, still giggling and probably thinking this was a game. When the kiss broke, he looked into her eyes, waiting for her answer.

"We still need an officiant," she said. "And a babysitter."

"Your father should still be awake," said Ali, his eyes twinkling. "I think he can fill both roles well enough."

"Then yes," she whispered. "Yes. I'll marry you tonight."

* * *

Caspian soaked in the steaming water, letting the heat seep into his muscles. It was a relaxing sensation, and he could already been the soreness in his body begin to subside. By morning, it would have returned. His right shoulder in particular. In Hamelin, Damon had taken a lot of pleasure in pinning that arm behind his back and pushing on it until it popped out of its socket, and Caspian considered it a small miracle that he was actually left-handed.

Then, there'd been the fight with Ursula. When the Stormbringer had been going down, he'd jolted his right shoulder against the deck during his fall, which had not helped him in the slightest. He'd had to restrain Aquaria as well, and he'd been forced to use his bad arm to maintain his grip on Carpet whilst Ali had sped through the air.

All in all, Caspian considered himself very lucky that he hadn't lost the arm entirely at this point. The healers had done what they could, but there was no repairing his joint, and the only advice they'd been able to give him was that he shouldn't put any strain on it. _How very helpful_. Like as not, losing most of the ability in one arm would mean losing quite a bit else.

He'd never be able to steer a ship again, for one.

Sighing, he leaned back in the tub, running the sponge across his skin. It had been a long day, and his sister's revelation had left him reeling. Honestly, he didn't want to think about it right now. If he did, Caspian knew that he'd begin to cry again, and his eyes were already bruised from too much rubbing.

Instead, he gritted his teeth as he reached around with his sponge, swiping at his back as best he could. It was difficult to reach with his good arm, and he was missing more skin that he was actually cleaning. _Well, I'd better get used to it._ Switching hands, he bit his lip to suppress the pained grunt which threatened to escape his mouth as he stretched his arm behind him. He clenched his eyes half-shut at the stabbing pain in his shoulder, and as he raised his arm a little higher, he found it impossible to contain the whimpers.

"Caspian?"

He froze, dropping the sponge as he turned towards the closed door. _No_. She'd just seen him showing signs of improvement that morning. If she knew the extent of his damage… _If she knew that even hugging her with both arms hurt me._ In the darkness of Hamelin, Lucile had told him that she loved him, and he believed her. He still believed her. But, as pure as her heart was, how much could even she tolerate?

"I'm… I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Lucile… It's… It's okay."

"If you're sure?"

Caspian sighed. This was Lucile. She'd already seen him at his lowest point. _Kill me. Kill me, please. Please, just kill me._ It wasn't as though he could hide his arm forever, and it wasn't as though he could go forever without washing his back either. Swallowing, he turned towards the door.

"I'm not… Please?"

She opened the door and froze as she stepped into the bathroom, letting the door slip closed behind her as she stared. _No, that isn't what I meant._ He knew exactly how this looked, because he'd been in scenes like this before with women whose names he couldn't even remember. Even as the sordid memories flickered before his eyes, they were hazy and indistinct, like images from a stranger's life, and he was frantically shaking his head.

"I… no… not like that…" he said quickly, too quickly. "It's… it's my arm. I can't… In Hamelin… then after… It's hard to move it. I can't… can't reach my back without it… without it hurting."

"Okay," she said, raising her hands. "Okay. Cas, breathe, calm down. I believe you."

Shivers ran down his body as she slowly approached before kneeling beside the tub, and to his surprise, she didn't so much at glance at him below the waist. Instead, she kept her eyes on his as she accepted the sponge from him. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he leaned forward, allowing her to get to work. Gently, she scrubbed at his back, and the only sound in the room was the sloshing of water and the thumping of his heart in his ears.

"You… you deserve more than… than a prince you have to… to play nursemaid to," he muttered.

"I'd rather a good man with a good heart than a bad man with two good arms," she countered.

 _A good man. Am I a good man?_ He'd done good things, maybe. He was trying to be a better person than he'd been in the past. But, was he worth it to her, truly? She was the rightful queen of Eleádoré, and she could have any man in the world if she so desired. Yet, she wanted _him_ , despite his flaws and shortcomings. _You're a hero to me, Caspian,_ she'd said to him, but was he?

"Don't doubt yourself," she continued. "I can see that look in your eyes."

"What look?"

"You know what I mean," she said. "We've been through a lot, you and I, so why can't you believe that I care about you for you, just as you are? Why keep making excuses that don't hold any weight?"

It was difficult to explain when she posed the question in that way, but he knew the answer anyway. He _cared_ for her. Being with her stilled his trembles, if only a little, and put a flicker of strength back into his voice. Yet, he _knew_ that he was not good enough for her as he was. In Hamelin, she had told him that she didn't need a white knight upon a mighty steed, that she didn't need someone who could dance with her at every ball, that could make her happy for every second of every day.

He wanted to believe her, but how could he? Before Hamelin, every woman he'd ever been with had wanted only three things from him: his money, his looks, and his claim to the throne. They'd smile and laughed as he'd bedded them, but their eyes had always told him the truth. They'd been able to look past who he was because of what he'd been able to bring to the table, but now he was just a damaged wretch with the dream of being a better man.

"I can't dance… dance with you beneath the stars," he said. "I'm not… not handsome like I was. I can't carry… carry you to bed each night. I can't love you like… like you deserve to be loved. Whenever I let… let myself think about… about it… I think of _him_ instead. I can't show… show you the whole world. Being with me. Luce, you'll… you'll be giving up a lot."

"No," she said, and the fervor in her voice was enough to make him look up and meet her eyes. They were beautiful, he noticed, not for the first time. One blue, one green, and both burning with an intensity he had never seen in her before.

"No, I am not giving up a lot," she said. "You say that you can't dance with me beneath the stars? Well, good, because I hate dancing. People stare at me and I'd rather spend my time sitting in the corner of the room where it's quieter anyway. Not handsome? Why? Is it because you've lost weight in Hamelin? Is it the scars? Am I supposed to be put off by things that are skin deep? I love with more than my eyes, Caspian. And you say you can't carry me to bed each night? Well, Tsar Luna gave me legs, didn't he?"

"That's not… not what I—"

"And the rest? What does that even have to do with anything, Caspian?" she asked. "I can love you without having to bed you. I can care for you without wanting you to spread my legs and ravish me. You're naked now. Do you see me trying to climb into the tub beside you? Where is that train of thought even coming from?"

Heat blazed in his cheeks at her words, and he pulled up his legs to his chest to obscure himself from view. She was making sense, but it was hard to believe her, especially when it clashed with everything he'd ever known.

"Because… because love and sex, they… they always went together for… for me. Every girlfriend ever. It was just… just something that you do… do with someone you care… care about or want… want to be with. But… but Damon. He… he changed."

"He used it to hurt you," said Lucile, the fire seeming to dim in her eyes. She reached out, pausing and waiting for his nod of acceptance. When he gave it, she pressed her palm to his cheek, holding his head up as it threatened to sag. "I would like to be with you in that way, Cas, but not today. Not now, when you're still healing and I'm not ready for such a step. If I told you that I want and love you for exactly who you are, every flaw, every scar, every imperfection, would you believe me?"

He looked at her, eyes wide, and for the longest time, he thought about it. His mind was arguing with itself, twisting the logic into knots, and his heart thudded in his chest. Then, he looked deeper into himself for the answer.

"Yes," he said, speaking from the heart. "Yes, I… I believe you."

* * *

The fire burned low in the hearth, and the room was silent save for their breathing. A sheaf of papers lay scattered across the desk, sodden with spilled ink and a messy scrawl that was almost childlike, and a pair of empty plates sat upon the coffee table. The room was furnished with a table, but they preferred the loveseat near the fire when it came to meals. He'd eaten more than he usually did tonight, she'd noticed, and she was glad for it. _Progress._

They lay on their sides in his bed, facing each other and dressed in their pyjamas: for him, loose breeches and a tunic, and for her, a flowing white nightgown that stopped beneath her knees. There was a lightness in him that hadn't been there before, as though the tension in him had gone slack, and Lucile couldn't help but smile. Their conversation in the bathroom had not been the first time she'd had to reassure him, but for the first time, it felt like they'd made real progress.

She was under no illusions. Many would likely look at her and tell her that she was making a mistake and that she had no idea what exactly she was signing up for, but that could not be further from the truth. To love someone as scarred as Caspian was not going to be easy. To love a man with a crippled arm would not be easy. But, the most worthwhile and important things in life were never truly easy. She had learned that when her castle had been stormed and she'd been forced to flee for her life. Life was not a fairy tale, but it didn't mean she couldn't have a happy ending.

And, in her heart of hearts, she knew that Caspian Starshells was her happy ending. If someone had told her that a year ago, she'd have laughed in their face and thought them mad or drunk. As a princess, she had known many suitors, most of them arranged, and she had always resigned herself to knowing she'd likely never be happy with them. With Caspian, on the other hand…

 _True love burns brightest in the dark._

"You're… you're looking very cheerful," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I'm thinking of you," she replied, reaching out to take his hand. "They call you the Rogue of the Sea, you know. I can see why."

"Why?"

"You stole my heart," she replied, her cheeks flushing at the admission.

It had taken her a while to think that up, and Tsar Luna above, it was cheesy and rather trite. In another life, she'd be face-palming. In this life, she just felt a warm flutter in her chest as he burst into peals of laughter. It was a boy's laugh, high and carefree, and so at odds with the person he'd become that she wanted to let this moment last forever.

"They… they call you the… the Maiden of Dawn," he said, sounding short of breath as he laughed. "I… I think I know why as… as well."

"Why?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"You… you lit up my… my world when you… you came into it," he said.

As soon as the words left his lips, she was giggling and cringing in equal measure. It wasn't even that funny, she knew, but she couldn't help it. It was just… he was trying and his laugh was so pure, and the line he'd just used was so corny. Lucile felt like a young girl again, smitten by her first crush.

"I'm sorry," she said, "But you're going to need to be a bit more Pacific."

"Is that a… a pun?" he asked. "We're… we're going to have… have to _scale_ things back… back here."

"No, no," she said, pinching herself to keep from giggling louder than before. "I _shell_ not cave into _pier_ pressure."

"Be punny," he said, and she noticed that when he was trying to hold in his laughter, he screwed up his nose. It was rather cute. "It… it serves an… an important _porpoise._ "

"Is that the best you can do?" she asked, her tone light and teasing. "I'm sure you have a few better jokes in your arsenal. They say you sailed the seven seas and visited every port in the known world."

His eyes flickered, and he _smirked._ Squeezing at her fingers, he asked, "Does… does it need to… to be punny?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Fine. Why… why did Princess Jasmine go… go to the market?"

"She was looking for a date," said Lucile, her smile so wide that it hurt. "I've heard that one before."

As soon as the words had left her lips, she wished that she hadn't said anything and simply played along. The disappointment was evident across his features, and she could have kicked herself. They had been having such an enjoyable time, and she'd just had to go and put a pin in their fun. She could almost hear him telling her that he couldn't even tell a joke right that would make her laugh, and she could all but feel the trembling intensify in his fingers. Then, she shook herself, surprised.

He didn't seem that upset, not truly. His fingers were still, or at least as still as they could be when the trembling was very much a part of him, but there was no real sadness in his gaze as he smiled at her. _Don't doubt yourself,_ she'd told him, and now it was her turn, she realized, to learn to stop walking on eggshells. He was making progress, she reminded herself, and with time, Hamelin would be nothing but a bad memory to them both.

Tonight, she could barely see its shadow on Caspian. There were the scars and his skinniness, but his eyes were still glimmering with mirth, and his smile was bright. His hair fell across his brow, messy and uncombed, and she could barely see his freckles in the dim light. He didn't look like a broken man. He didn't sound like one.

Tonight, he was just Caspian, and she loved to see him smile so freely.

"You… you made it hard for me to… to think of a… a rare one," he said, drawing closer to her across the bed. "You wanted a… a pun." Pausing, he looked at her, a strange expression spreading across his face. "Why… why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" she asked, genuinely unsure as to what he meant.

"Like… like you're stopping… stopping yourself from doing something you… you want to."

"I want to kiss you," she admitted, thinking it best to be open with him. "I know I shouldn't, and I'm stopping myself because I don't want to push that on you, but hearing you laugh makes me want to kiss you and hold you in my arms, and—"

Her eyes grew wide as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. His fingers shook like leaves, and a spasm ran down his back as he raised a hand to her cheek. It was chaste and barely lasted a few seconds, just long enough for her to feel his lips against her own. Then, he pulled away, his breathing ragged, and she could see that he was just as surprised as she.

"I want… want to… to kiss… to kiss you… you as well," he managed, and she felt a pang in her chest at his jittery stammer. Still holding onto her cheek, he sighed. "I can… can try. We can… can try. Practice. Wash away all… all my bad memories. Replace them… them with good… good ones."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Cas, listen to me, it's not important if it's going to hurt you."

"I… I have my… my limits, Luce," he whispered. "I won't… won't force myself. But I… I want to kiss… kiss you and… and hold you. I don't want to shake when… when I do. We… we go slow. I can't do… do much of anything _there_. But… but you—"

"Shhh," she said, because he didn't need to say anymore. She knew what he meant. "I can do that. And, Luce?"

He smiled. "You… you call… call me Cas, don't… don't you?"

"I didn't even realize I'd started. It just felt right."

"So does this," he said, and he kissed her again. This time, he lasted a few seconds longer before pulling away. Seeming satisfied, he clasped her hand once more as he pulled the covers up over the both of them, and he said, "It's… it's your turn to… to tell me… tell me a joke. Something… something punny."

Her eyes twinkling, she did just that, and they laughed until their giggles turned to dreams.

* * *

It was a happy night. The stars were bright across a clear sky, a boon to any sailor, and the air was crisp and cool. Yet, Eric could barely bring himself to move from his armchair. It almost hurt to breathe. There were days when he could not get out of bed, let alone swing his cutlass as well as he could in his youth, and then there were other days when he could barely remember how to write his name.

He should be happy. It had been a good night. He had officiated the marriage of his daughter and Prince Ali in the palace chapel, and they were a good match. Aquaria's smile had been as dazzling as her mother's, and he knew she would be happy in Agrabah. It hadn't been the wedding he'd always envisioned for her, his precious little girl who'd ridden on his shoulders through the gardens of his palace. Yet, it was the marriage she deserved all the same: to a good man with a good heart who would love her to the end of her days.

His grandson was here as well, asleep in a bassinet. Ephraim was lovely; tanned and dark-haired like his father, but he had his mother's eyes. _Ariel's eyes as well._ If there had been one thing that had made Eric smile, it had been having his beard tugged by his giggling grandson. _You'd be so proud, Ariel. So proud._

Eric should be happy. The Sea Witch was gone, and she would never rise again. Aquaria was happy. His grandson was hale and hearty. Even Caspian, for all the grief he'd once weighed upon his parents' heads, was on the road to happiness. That was all he could ever want for any of them, truly. The paths they had walked were not the ones he would have chosen, but that changed very little. Like him, like Ariel, they'd made their own little slices of happily ever after, and he wouldn't change it for the world.

Yet, he was not happy. Not now that the light had gone out of his world. _Oh Ariel…_ If he'd known… if only he'd known. Thirty years was a longer time than most people ever had with the one they loved, but it was not enough. It would never be enough. They had dreamed, the both of them, of one day passing down their crowns and retiring to a quiet village beside the sea, but it had always been a dream.

There was a knock on his door, and he frowned. It was very late, and there shouldn't be anyone around. Quickly checking to make sure that Ephraim that not been woken, he reached for his cane and hobbled towards the door. Another sign of his weariness, he knew. His leg had troubled him since the fight that had cost them Melody, but it had only been since Ariel had followed their eldest daughter that he had needed a crutch. Pausing to collect himself, he opened the door, taking care to hide his surprise.

"Lady Snow," he said, inclining his head and gesturing for her to enter. "I did not think to find you out of bed at this late hour."

" _Queen_ Snow." She sniffed, taking a seat beside his coffee table, and he resisted the urge to scoff. If she was a queen, then he was a flying monkey.

" _Lady_ Snow," he corrected, for he was not in the mood for nonsense. "You ruled as the consort to a king, and now that Florian is gone, you are a dowager at best. The crown belongs to your son, and the queen will be the woman he marries."

He sank into his armchair and regarded her with a cold eye. Snow looked like she had been slapped. Deftly, she smoothed her features into an impassive mask, but he could see the truth in her eyes. His words had stung her, as well they should.

"My son." Snow White sounded upset. "I am sorry, perhaps, for how he was raised, but he has never been strong enough. Be honest, Eric, you would have done the same as I to ensure your heir toughened up. Renvale is a den of vipers, each more venomous than the last."

"Caspian was an irresponsible rapscallion and I loved him regardless. No matter how many whores he took to bed or bottles he drank, no matter how often he set sail without telling us he was leaving, no matter how often he disappeared for weeks at a time on some misadventure, I loved him and I let him walk his own path. Today, I'd be honored to step aside and see him rule from my throne." Eric's voice was hard, and his gaze was harder still. "A wise crab once told me that, at some point, our children need have got to be free to lead their own lives, you see."

"Christopher is—"

"I have met your son, Snow, and I have spoken to him at length during his stay in Aquitania. He is kind, courteous, and I do not blame him for you in the slightest. Now, why have you come here?"

Snow glared, and he could see the mask begin to crack. With stiff movements, she drew out a letter from her pocket. As though it was poison, she shoved it into his hand as quickly as she could and let go. Curiosity getting the bet of him, Eric held it up to read, noting the broken wax seal on the cover. _A snowflake… What in Tsar Luna's name would King Nicholas want with Snow White?_

Opening her letter, he felt as though a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over his head. Closing his eyes, he set the letter down upon the coffee table before steepling his fingers over his nose.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said. "She was a sweet girl."

"I mourned her already," said Snow, her voice cracking. "To know she was still alive, only to be taken so cruelly after being freed from her imprisonment… I don't know how to feel. Christopher… I would have liked to have heard it from him."

"I think that ship has long since sailed," said Eric, not unkindly. "You're not angry at him, not really. You're angry at yourself, but you're still trying to rationalize it. You didn't come here to show me a letter that was weeks old. Why are you here, Snow?"

It all seemed to collapse at once. Her poise and her guard slipped first, and for the first time since he had granted her sanctuary, he saw her for who she truly was: a broken woman who had seen her entire world crumble to dust in her hands. Slumping forward in her seat, her hands tightened over her knees, her knuckles growing white.

"A ship to carry me to Renvale," she said, her voice as weary as he felt. "All I have left in the world is my son, and I don't even know where he is. Someday, he will return for his throne. It will be an upward battle. Yet, I still have friends in Renvale. By your leave, I wish to travel to Renvale and pave what little roads I still can for him."

King Eric raised an eyebrow. "The same son you said was not strong enough?"

"He isn't." Snow shook her head, and her smile was sad, so very sad. "But he is my son, and he deserved more from me than a single teddy bear and a world filled with problems."

Eric surveyed her, and he nodded. "We have a trading galley bound for Agrabah that leaves in two days. The ports of Renvale are closed to us, but I can have my men smuggle you ashore as they pass the Frelian coast. The rest will be up to you."

Nodding, she murmured a word of thanks before taking her leave. As the door closed behind her, Eric sank back in his armchair, and he closed his eyes, hoping for a few minutes of rest. His stomach rumbled, ever so slightly, and he remembered that he had not yet eaten his dinner. Then, as quickly as the silence had come, a shrill cry pierced the air, and Eric sighed. Rising to his feet and leaning on his cane, he made his way to the bassinet, a soft smile growing across his face as he scooped up his grandson.

"Hungry, little one?" he asked. "Come along, then. Your mother left a bottle, and I'm off a mind to have some salted cod."


	50. Solitude

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Three**

 **Solitude**

* * *

Jessica found him in his room with a half-eaten plate of food and a bottle of wine, and she sighed. He'd promised her that he'd come down to the dining hall for dinner tonight, and she'd been there waiting for what felt like hours. Christopher had his reasons, she knew, but it hurt all the same. Minnie's Inn was a fine establishment, and being around other people would do him good. Why did she even care? Jessica sighed, already knowing the answer. Against her better judgement, she had grown fond of him since their first meeting… fond enough to share with him her deepest secrets.

"What are you doing?" she asked, coming to sit beside him.

"Planning," he said, pointing at the map stretched out in front of him. "The _Sea Dog_ is the sturdiest ship in the harbor, but it's going to be stopping at Arendelle and Berk before reaching DunBroch. The _Pretty Lovis_ is swifter, but it's voyage is the longest since they mean to circle the peninsula instead of taking the straits. Then, there's _Golden Thorn_ , which is likely my best bet. It means to stop for provisions in the Summer Isles, but it'll sail for the Port of Gael in DunBroch right after."

"Gael is Prince Hubert's seat of power," said Jessica, though she wished they were talking about something, anything, other than their plans. "Considering you wish to meet with his sister, it would be for the best to seek him out first."

"Indeed," said Christopher. " _Golden Thorn_ also has a stout crew, an experienced captain, spacious cabins, and two rows of oars. They're currently seeking out mercenaries to escort them, what with the Naga still hunting the seas. I mean to apply. I'm good enough with a bo-staff after training in Agrabah, and my Dreamtouch gives me an edge over the others."

"And how exactly would I get on board this ship if the plan is to travel as a pair of sellswords?" she asked, not liking his implication one bit. "Last I checked, most captains would rather not hire a woman to do a man's job, even if that woman was ten times more skilled."

Christopher sucked in a breath, and a sense of dread bloomed in Jessica's stomach. She could already tell where this was going, and she did not like it.

"You'll not be coming," he said. "I've been thinking on it, and it's best that we part ways here, Jessica."

His voice was cool and impassive, but she could see the truth in his eyes. He didn't want her to go, not really. He wanted her to stay, she could see it, but he was pushing her away all the same? Why? It made no sense to her. They worked well together in battle, and they had learned to rely on each other during their brief friendship. It would be foolish for him to go without her to a strange land with only himself to rely on.

"Why?" she asked. She wanted to argue, and she wanted to fight, but more than anything, she wanted to hear his reasoning first.

"Because I care about you," he said. "And the people I care about will always be targets for Regina. My sister did nothing to hurt that wretched woman. She was good. She was kind. She was a little girl who'd already lost three years of her life to a magical prison. I loved her. She was my sister and we had our differences, but I loved her. And she died for it."

"Chris, if you think—"

"Let me finish," interrupted Christopher, raising a hand. "I will feel her loss until my dying day, and I rip Regina's heart from her chest for what she did. But I will not give my enemies the chance to do that again. I care about you, Jessica. As a friend, as a confidante, as maybe something more. I don't know yet. That is enough to put a target on your back, and that is why it is time we parted ways."

"I can take care of myself," said Jessica, grasping him by the chin and forcing him to meet her eyes. "I'm a better fighter than you are. I'm more skilled at magic than you are. I'm a more experienced adventurer than you are. I have been on my own for years since leaving Oz, and I'm still alive. Do you think Regina Queen scares me?"

"It doesn't matter," he said. "My decision is final. I'm grateful to you for coming with me to Corona, and I'm thankful that you accompanied me to this port. But, this is the end. You will not come with me to DunBroch."

Jessica narrowed her eyes. Oh, was that the way it was going to be? Well, if he wanted to play the martyr, he could do so all he wanted. She just wasn't going to make it easy for him. As for the finality of his decision, to hell with that. She knew her own mind, and not even Tsar Luna could forbid her what she wanted to do with her life.

"How are you going to stop me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Tell me, Christopher, how are you going to stop me from following you to DunBroch? I chose to come with you this far. What makes you think I don't want to see this through?"

"Don't make it harder than it needs to be, Jessica," he said. "Please."

"I'll make it as hard as I need to," she retorted. "You listen to me, Christopher, and you listen well. I was paid to teach you how to control your magic. That is all. I did not need to come with you to Corona. I didn't need to help you get to this port. I didn't even need to stay with you this long. I could go back to Agrabah today, collect the gold Ali owes me, and be on my way without a second thought."

Christopher looked up at her with a weary look in his eyes. "Why don't you?"

Jessica scoffed. "If you really need me to answer that, then it's clear you haven't been paying attention."

* * *

Christopher rose from his seat and began to pace the room. Why was this so hard? Dammit, why was she making this so difficult. One kiss did not a bond for the ages make, and even if he had admitted to himself that he cared about her, that was all the more reason to have her leave. _Oh Margaret._ His sister had been doomed from the start, but it had been him who had tied her noose when he'd broken her free from her prison.

Whatever happened, he could not allow that to happen again. He just could not.

"It's because I've been paying attention that I'm doing this," he said. "DunBroch is one thing, Jess, but thereafter I am riding to war. It will end in one of two ways, and both those ways involve a head being mounted on a pike. The only difference is whether the head is mine or Regina's."

"I know war," said Jess. "You think Oz was peaceful? I can't remember when one of the four kingdoms wasn't fighting the other. You think I don't know pain and torture and bloodshed? I was flaying my mother's enemies for her when I was seven years old."

She waved her hand out in front of her, and three runes flickered around her fingers. The first was red as blood, the second was the colour of phlegm, and the third was blacker than the night sky. Jessica rose from her seat, twirling the runes around her fingers, and her eyes were cold and determined.

"This rune will boil a man's blood in his veins," she said, and the red rune glowed briefly before flickering away into nothingness. "This one spreads a sickness that blocks the bowels. The victim cannot relieve themselves, and they linger for days in incredible pain until drowning in their own waste."

She cocked her head to the side, the last black rune circling her fingers, and she smiled a very sad smile. "And this one… It doesn't kill you. First it takes your sight. Then your hearing. Your taste. Your touch. Your smell. You're left in a dungeon where you can't hurt yourself, but you're alone in the darkness until you die of old age. Most go mad long before then."

"I know war, Christopher," she said. "It doesn't frighten me. I am going with you."

 _No, you're not._ Christopher took a deep breath. This was going nowhere. He knew she was a fighter, and he knew she was a killer. He knew she was dangerous and that she wasn't afraid. It didn't change anything. There would always be another blackened mirror. He could still see her when he closed his eyes. Margaret had been brave. She had understood the danger that Regina posed better than most. He had felt her blood seeping through his fingers, her skin so slashed with glass that it was a miracle in hadn't fallen from her in ribbons.

When he closed his eyes, he saw more than Margaret dying in his arms. He saw Jessica. He saw Ali and Morgan and Nick and all the rest of them, dying for helping him. It was why he needed to do this alone. He could live with putting his own neck on the line. The lives of his friends… he would never be able to rest if winning his throne meant watching them die, one after another, until he was all that was left.

Perhaps he needed to try a different tact.

"Why do you want to come with me?" he asked, pausing in his pacing. From the corner of his eye, he could see her in the mirror, still standing beside the table.

"I thought you said you've been paying attention," she said. "You know why, Christopher."

"Say it then," he said. "Say it out loud."

She approached him, and he tensed as he felt her arms wrap around him from behind. His heart thudded in his chest, Their kiss in Corona had been the first and the last, but he could not deny the flutter in his chest whenever she was present. She'd kept him sane in his grief by her presence alone, and he did care for her.

"You know," she whispered into his ear, and he could feel his resolve begin to melt. He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure, but in his heart of hearts, she was right. He knew.

"It's just been a little over two months since we met," he said, trying to remain firm and focus only on the facts. "We get along well—"

"You can talk yourself out of anything if you try hard enough," she whispered in that same breathy tone that made it hard for him to think. "Don't think so hard, Prince Charming. Life happens when you let it. A month and a half can easily become a year, and year can be a decade, and before you know it, we'll wonder what this stupid argument was even about."

It was hard to think beneath the sweet smell of her perfume and the pretty picture she painted of the world they could have. _May Tsar Luna forgive me._ He yielded, leaning back into her embrace, and he felt her lips shift from his ear to his throat, her kisses trailing across his skin like a dozen butterflies. Her fingers slid across his chest, undoing the buttons of his tunic one by one, and he knew that he shouldn't go through with this. It was not wise. It would end in pain and heartbreak.

Tsar Luna forgive him, but he wanted it all the same.

His shirt came loose and fell to the floor, and she guided him towards his bed. The innkeeper had raised an eyebrow when he'd insisted on a room with two singles, but he'd held firm for so long. Too long. _Life happens when you let it._

Christopher twisted them around as they fell backwards onto his bed, fumbling at the clasp of her blouse. His lips met hers, first gently, and then with a frenzied passion as she dragged her nails down his back and kicked off her boots. They were moving quickly, more quickly than he'd have imagined, but everything was melting all at once. All his grief and his pain and his longing, all the isolation and frustration.

It felt good to just give himself to someone who wanted him as much as he wanted her for no other reason than it would make him happy.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as she flipped them over, and now she was straddling him, her hair falling around her face like a curtain as she pinned his wrists on either side of his head. Her eyes were dark as she leaned in for a kiss, and a whine escaped his lips as she pressed her lips to his chest instead. One kiss, then another, and she was trailing down his body until he felt her fingers fumbling at his belt, and he saw stars burst across his eyes.

* * *

"That was very nice," said Jessica, curling up against his chest. "You've been holding out on me."

"Oh?" said Christopher, sounding surprised. "I, well. It was good for me, I'll admit, but… define nice?"

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Jessica trailed her fingers across his chest. He was rather handsome when he wasn't been annoyingly noble. Yet, it wasn't his lean muscles or the soft trail of hair that began at his navel that she found alluring, nor was it the bits of him he kept within his breeches. It wasn't even his eyes, which truth be told, she'd always considered his most beautiful feature. Those and his cheekbones.

It was his smile. She could do without all the rest, but the smile. Tsar Luna, that somewhat dorky smile coupled with flushed cheeks and eyes dark with lust had been enough to make her unravel in seconds.

"It's your first time," she said, her voice light and gentle. "Nobody is perfect during their first time. Still, it was nice, mostly because it was with you."

"I'm glad," he said, his voice soft, his eyes growing pensive. "Growing up, I resigned myself to knowing I'd one day marry a girl of noble birth, whether I loved her or not, and I'd be expected to deflower her on the night of our wedding. My own feelings wouldn't have mattered. It was just what would have been expected of me."

"That's horrible," she said, not knowing what he was getting at but simply understanding that it was wrong.

"It is what it is," he replied. "In a way, my friends are lucky they had parents willing to look the other way when it came to their indiscretions. If I had been as promiscuous as Ali, my mother would have had me thrown into the dungeons until I, in her words, saw sense. What I'm saying, and I know this isn't exactly thrilling pillow talk, is that I'm glad I got to have this with _you_ , come what will."

"Godmother, you're a sentimental virgin, aren't you?" she said, shifting her face to hide her flush with her hair. He was making butterflies dance in her stomach with all this sweet talk, and that was just a little unsettling to her. Yes, it was him, and he was special to her as far as people went, but she wasn't used to being flattered in such a way.

"I'm sorry for being open, I guess," said Christopher. The light in his eyes dimmed, just a little, and he sighed before shifting across the bed, drawing himself just a fraction of an inch away from her.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said with a sigh. Propping herself on her elbow, she reached out with her free hand to link her fingers with his. "I'm sorry. You know I don't think before I talk."

"I _know_ you have a snappy retort ready to fire at all times," he said, and she noticed that he was not returning her hold upon his hand. "I just, sometimes… never mind."

A smile returned to his face, one that didn't reach his eyes, and he rolled over onto his side. In the dim candlelight, the scar which ran across his side, a memento from his fight with the Mirror Men, stood in stark contrast against his skin. If anything, it was the one ugly thing about him, she thought, and she wished it wasn't there.

"What do you wish?" she asked. "Tell me? As I recall, you made fun of me when I opened up and was vulnerable with you."

"I teased you, yes, and I'm sorry if I upset you that night. It wasn't fair of me to make light of your confession, even if I knew," he replied. "I also told you that to me, you're just Jessica, and that's all that matters."

He left the rest unsaid, but she could hear it anyway. _I tease, you mock._ It was upsetting. She didn't mean to. If he knew her as well as he claimed, then he would know that she never meant to hurt him when she said things that may cross a line. She respected his boundaries, she did, but… she just didn't know where all of them where yet. In time, she was sure she'd learn, for this was still the early days.

"I'm sorry," she said, putting all her emotion into her words. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No," he said, the barest hint of his smile reaching his eyes. "You didn't upset me. You just made me think, is all. Anyway, this talk is getting a bit depressing considering how much fun we just had. Let's go back to that."

 _Think about what,_ she wanted to ask, but she knew that she wouldn't get an answer. As much as he'd opened up to her, there were still many walls in place, keeping her out whenever she pushed too deep. He was right, though. Tonight, at least, it would be best to keep to the lighter topics as sleep crept over them. She was already beginning to feel rather drowsy.

"For someone as inexperienced as you claimed to be," she said, "You sure knew a few things."

"I'm a twenty-one year old man, Jessica," he said, rolling his eyes. "Just because you're the first woman I've been with does not mean I haven't, you know, had thoughts about it before. Besides, my best friend gets very bawdy when drunk, and Ali is—"

"Almost always drunk," she finished, a teasing glint appearing in her eyes. "Tell me about these… _thoughts."_

"Why?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

"It's a long voyage to DunBroch," she murmured, her eyes growing heavier by the second. "We'll have a lot of free time on our hands. More than enough to make those thoughts a reality."

His smile was sad, she noticed, as he pulled her close to press his lips to her brow, and she felt so tired as sleep stole over her. _No, we're still talking,_ but there was no arguing with exhaustion. They'd talk in the morning. Smiling, she pecked him on the cheek and murmured a good night as she cuddled into his side, succumbing to the sweet embrace of sleep.

* * *

The night was dark and quiet as Christopher slipped out of her embrace. Once before, he'd said that she was pretty when she was angry, but that wasn't really the truth. Jessica was always pretty, even when she upset him for some reason or another. He closed his eyes to take a breath. This was for the best. Bending over to kiss her cheek, he stopped himself at the last moment. No. If he let himself linger, he would remain here forever.

She would sleep until morning, and her dreams would be sweet. He'd made sure of that.

Without looking back, Christopher dressed and packed his things. He didn't have much, to be honest. It all fit into a single bag. Grasping his bo-staff from its place beside the door, he left without a word, taking care to shut the door behind him as quietly as possible.

This was perhaps the worst thing he had ever done in his life. _Tsar Luna, forgive me._ To bed a woman and then slink away while she slept, abandoning her to awake to an empty bed as though she was some common whore… His throat grew tight. It needed to be done. The road ahead of him was perilous, and if he allowed her to accompany him, it would only end in tragedy.

 _I shouldn't have slept with her._ Yet, how could something that had felt so right be so wrong? Did it feel right? It had been nice, she'd said, and he'd thought it was excellent, but had it been right? He didn't know. Clenching his fists, he kept walking. He hadn't even left a note, but then again, he couldn't risk it. She was a witch of great skill, and if he left anything of himself behind, anything at all, she would probably have a rune in her arsenal that would allow her to follow him.

If she even cared enough to come after him after he'd left her, he thought. It was not too late. He could still turn back and return to bed before she woke. It would be as if he'd never left. Was this folly? Was this the right thing? He didn't know.

A hundred voices echoed in his mind, but strangely enough, it was his mother's voice that was the clearest. _They don't tell you about the hard decisions,_ she'd said, her words slurred from the wine she'd consumed. It was one of the less painful memories he had of her, and it said a lot about their relationship that one of the most pleasant things he could recall about his mother involved her being too drunk to walk without assistance.

 _Love and joy is irrelevant to people like us,_ his mother had said to him, _It is a privilege that we do not share with the common folk. Compromise after compromise until you're left hollow and knowing a crown can't fill the hole you've cut into yourself, but you'll keep cutting anyway. That's why you need to be stronger, Christopher. That's why I do what I do._

He'd been six.

The streets were all but empty as he walked through them, but the harbor was lit and bustling with activity. Most captains wanted to leave before the tide, and he had known this from the start. There had never been an argument between Jessica and him, not really, because there hadn't been a decision to make. _Jess, when you wake, don't hate me. That's all I ask. The_ _Black Pearl_ was scheduled to leave for DunBroch in a few hours, and it was a ship he had not even discussed with her. Yet, he had still answered the call for sellswords, and he had been accepted without hesitation. Ali had trained him well. _Jess trained me as well._

He forced the thought from his mind. His didn't want to think about what Ali would say if he knew what he was doing. _If you're doing something that the entire world will think is wrong and stupid, then maybe you shouldn't be doing it,_ whispered a treacherous voice in his mind. No, he couldn't. He needed to do this alone, not for his sake but for theirs. He could not, would not, allow them to share Margaret's fate.

Would they? His sister had not been the fighter that the others were. He could still go back. The risk to them was not the same. For a few moments, he stopped walking. The road ahead was long and cold, but Jessica's embrace had been warm. He could still taste her on his lips, he could still hear their moans… They could stay in that room for as long as they needed, making plans that involved two people instead of one. He could still go back.

Pulling his hood over his head as he felt the first raindrops fall upon his face, he entered the docks and headed for the sixth wharf on the left. _The Black Pearl_ was a large galley, sitting low in the water with the weight of its cargo, but it was a steady vessel all the same. He'd been promised a cabin that he'd share with three other sellswords, two meals a day, and a small purse of gold upon completion of the journey. If he impressed them, Captain Swann had mentioned the possibility of a permanent position, but he was content to simply reach Gael.

"And you are?" asked a scruffy man with a coarse beard, moving to block his path. "Only crew allowed to pass this point."

"Robin," said Christopher. "Robin Grim. I should be on your list."

The man nodded before running a blackened fingernail over a grubby scroll. He paused, glancing at Christopher's bo-staff before sticking out a hand. For a second, Chris hesitated, noting the man's unwashed appearance, but he shook the man's hand anyway.

"Welcome aboard, Robin," said the man. "Name's Flint, quartermaster of this here rig. You'll be in Cabin 5 with the other fresh meat, and I'll be giving you your orders once we set sail. Go on then, I don't have all day to stand around chatting."

Christopher nodded before climbing the gangplank, not pausing to explore the bustling deck. _Where even is Cabin 5?_ Deciding that the logical answer was belowdecks, he approached the stairs before pausing. It was not too late. He could still turn back and return to the inn before she woke, and it would be as if he never left. The ship itself may be irritated to be one sellsword short for their voyage, but it didn't matter. He closed his eyes, trying to think. What was the right thing? If Pooh were here, he'd be able to help him, but his teddy was a thousand leagues away.

His cabin was belowdecks. His heart was in that inn. Without looking back, Christopher started walking.

* * *

The cold grey light of dawn streamed in through the window, and Jess stirred. She threw out an arm, and the other side of the bed was cold.


	51. Rapture

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Four**

 **Rapture**

* * *

It had been an eternity since he'd lost her, but when he closed his eyes, Pan could still hear her voice, and he could still feel her touch. On quiet nights, he'd go to the grove where he'd buried her, and the scent of campanula blossoms would be so strong that he'd sometimes want to cry. Tink had loved her little bellflowers, and she'd used their nectar as other women used scented oils.

Clearer than all else, he could still hear her soft laugh. She'd miniaturized and rode on his shoulder more often than not, and she'd laughed into the shell of his ear. Soft and sweet, like the tinkling of a bell. Tink's laugh had stayed forever young, even as the lines had creased across her skin and her spun-gold hair had turned brittle and grey.

He walked across the shores of Neverland, lost in his memories as the star-strewn waves lapped at his boots. The pale-white sands were like a fine powder, and the trees swayed in the gentle breeze. He'd told Nibs to mind the fort for an hour or two, but he'd been gone for much longer. His lieutenant would understand, he knew, but a large part of him was just tired. It had been worth it, the brief flicker of happiness that Tink had brought into his life, but he'd underestimated the eternity of misery that was to follow.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Peter sighed at the familiar breath of cold which accompanied his best friend's coming.

"I want to be alone, Jack," he said, not turning back.

"I know," replied Jack, falling into step beside him. "It's not like you, though."

"Today's the day she died," he replied. "I want to—"

Yet, Jack would never know exactly what it was that Peter wanted, for, at that very moment, a ripple of shock passed through them both. He whirled, his head jerking to the side as he focused on the disturbance, but it was not near. Nibs burst from the treeline. Scrawny and lean, the Lost Boy remained on the very cusp of manhood, as he had for centuries. His floppy ears twitched around him as he ran, his eyes wide in alarm.

"Peter," he yelled. "It's—"

"Tsar Nicholas," said Jack, his face draining of color. Grasping Peter by the elbow, he yanked him around and pointed towards the stars. Above them, the full moon glowed, and images flickered across its face.

The North Pole burned. Nightmares surged towards the high walls of Santa Claus' fortress, and Fearlings swarmed across the frigid sky. Above it all flew the Black Castle, the floating fortress of Pitch Black. The Nightmare Men poured from the drawbridge, armed with flail and mace and hammer. From the battlements of the North Pole, the elves fired their tiny bows and the yetis lobbed their stones. Contraptions whirred upon the towers as the grand arsenal of the North Pole was deployed in defense of the fortress, and Tsar Nicholas stood with his swords in his hands, bellowing orders from above the gatehouse.

"Go," said Peter.

Quick as a wink, Jack had taken to the sky with Twinetender in hand. Whorls of frost wrapped around him as he became a blur of frozen light, shooting across the night sky as he flew for the North Pole. Peter watched him go, and then he turned to face Nibs.

"See that this remains safe," he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out the Heart of Mother Nature. "If all goes well, give it back to me. If anything goes wrong… The Godmother will know what to do with it."

"Peter, Tsar Luna commanded that you and the others not meet Pitch in battle," argued Nibs, looking more than a little unhappy with the turn of events. "And… what if Alice…"

Peter pursed his lips. _If I should fall, and Alice as well, what then?_ He honestly hadn't given the matter much though. One of them being defeated by Pitch was possible, but both? No… Yet, Tink had always taught him to be prepared for anything. Swallowing, he nodded. Could he trust Tsar Luna to do what needed to be done when it needed to be done? His father was many things, chessmaster chief amongst them, but him waiting for what he viewed was the perfect moment had already cost them several worlds. Wonderland would still be standing today had Tsar Luna acted when Peter had wanted to.

No, it could not be Tsar Luna. But, if not him, then who? It had to be someone who was powerful enough to keep it safe, someone with the mettle to do what was necessary despite the personal cost.

"Jack's boy," he said finally, praying that he was right. "If the worst should happen, Nibs, make sure that Nick Frost gets this and that he knows how important it is. More than anyone, you know why Tsar Luna cannot be trusted."

Without waiting for Nibs to reply, Peter raised his hands. The stars shed their celestial fires like gossamer threads, Neverland was enveloped in starlight. They wove upon each other, over and over until his realm was completely sealed. Nodding once in farewell, he took to the skies. It was not outside the realm of possibility for Pitch to launch a dual attack and strike at Neverland whilst he was away, and Peter would not allow his boys to be put in danger because he was elsewhere. In the past, he'd rarely had cause to seal Neverland, but after Tink's grave had been desecrated, his hackles were up.

If all else failed, his realm must still endure. Hangman's Tree was the Tree of Eternity, from whose acorns the World Trees were planted. If Neverland fell, there would be no recreation of the world should everything end.

Soaring through the clouds, Peter drew his dagger as he picked up speed. It would not take him long to reach the North Pole, and Jack would have already reached by now. This entire attack… it made no sense. Pitch must have known that to strike at one of them was to strike at them all and that the full might of the Guardians would descend upon him. Peter narrowed his eyes. Pitch knew the consequences of attacking them outright, and he attacked them anyway. It was clear that he did not intend to suffer those consequences, and that could only mean that he was certain of his victory.

 _We shall see,_ thought Peter, descending through the stratosphere. _We shall see._

* * *

Margaret Charming did not know the first thing about being a Guardian, nor did she really know why she'd been chosen. As a child, she'd heard the stories of the Guardians from her governesses, and they'd all been raised because of their valiant deeds. Santa had once brought joy to the children of his kingdom, particularly his daughter, and the Easter Bunny had once brought hope back to a kingdom on the verge of inquisition. The Tooth Fairy had fought a tiger in some stories, and a lion in others. There were dozens of conflicting tales, but all of them held the same tune.

To be a guardian, you had to be worthy. And, Margaret didn't believe she'd done anything that made her worthy by any admission. She'd been a weak, vapid girl who'd gotten herself captured as soon as the war had begun, and she'd spent years in prison before dying on the very day she'd been freed. There was nothing about what she'd done that was worthy of a song or tale.

Sighing, she leaned back in the armchair she now considered her own. As soon as she'd woken from death, she'd wanted nothing more than to return to her brother's side, but Tsar Luna refused to allow her to leave his manse. Instead, she was confined to her quarters for most of the day. _Settle,_ he'd said. Even if she could escape and return to the world below, there was little she could do to be with Christopher. He couldn't see her. Nobody could, not really. She was newly raised, and there was no belief in her as of yet.

For now, Margaret was less than the meanest ghost, fainter than an echo of what she once was.

The door creaked open, and she turned her head at the noise. The Godmother walked in. As always, the fairy wore her greying hair in a tight bun, her spectacles gleamed, and her dress dripped glitter with every step she took. Pursing her lips, Margaret turned away. She was not in the mood for whatever the woman wanted.

"Sulking does you no good," said the Godmother. "Have you been practicing?"

Margaret raised an eyebrow. Drawing the storybook from where it hung at her waist, she ran her fingers over the soft leather binding. By her will, it fell open to the page she was looking for.

"I read a book once," she said, her eyes flickering, "About a girl who was cold, so cold, and starving. She lit a match, struggling to keep warm, and then she lit another. The cold came creeping, though, sinking into her—"

The Godmother shuddered as the room grew so chill that their breaths fogged around their faces. Her skin tinged blue with frost, she flicked her wand. A warm breeze swirled around them both, and Margaret winced in response. The Godmother's spell was suffocating upon her own, forcing her tongue to tie itself into a knot. Narrowing her eyes, she continued her story in her mind.

 _Sinking into her flesh,_ she continued in her mind, _and it was cold, so cold. The girl saw visions of food and warmth and family, all things that she'd been denied, and the phantom warmth was the first kiss of d—_

"Enough," said the Godmother. Her eyes blazed, and Margaret gasped as her book slammed shut. Quickly, the room returned to normal, and she forced a tight smile to her lips.

"It wouldn't have killed you," she said, raising an eyebrow at the Godmother. "Just temporarily shut you down."

"I know," replied the Godmother, rolling her eyes. "I will admit that I had my doubts when Tsar Luna decided to gift you the Omnicron, but I'm pleasantly surprised. I will speak to him about letting you accompany me to earth as I go about my tasks."

Her irritation as being cooped up flickered away almost immediately. _Did she mean it?_ It would be nice to see something other than her quarters again. And, if she was on earth, she could begin working to make people believe in her. If she could grasp enough belief, she'd be visible, and then she could see Christopher again. _You cannot,_ Tsar Luna had told her once, but he could stuff it. Prince Nicholas was the son of Jack Frost, and though that was a closely guarded secret known only to the council, Margaret knew that they were able to see each other sparingly.

If Jack Frost could see his son despite being a Guardian, then she would damn well see her brother and help him as best she could.

 _Clang. Clang. Clang._

She was roused from her reverie by the clanging of bells. Whipping around, she stared out the window in alarm. The sound was coming from the belltower, but she'd never heard it rung before. When Peter Pan had given her a tour of the place, the entire tower had been caked in dust and cobwebs.

Almost immediately, a ripple of energy ripped through her. She yelped, clutching her chest at the sensation, and she closed her eyes. It was like she'd been dipped in ice water. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she opened her eyes to find herself in the living room. A fire crackled in the hearth, and Tsar Luna stood before it, prodding it with the end of his cane. _How did I get here? Did he?_

"Godmother," said Tsar Luna, not turning. "Pitch has attacked the North Pole. You are to gather your fairies and go at once. The others are already on their way."

"Open battle?" asked the Godmother. "Tsar Luna…"

"Our hand is forced," said Tsar Luna. "Now go. As for you, Mother Goo—"

"Margaret," corrected Margaret, wagging her finger at Tsar Luna despite the circumstances. The situation was dire and her mind was whirling, but the reminder of her new identity filled her with irritation. _I am not a goose, and I am definitely not a mother._

"Not now." Tsar Luna's tone was sharp. "You will remain here." He turned to the Godmother. "Alice! Go!"

The Godmother nodded before flickering away in a shower of sparks, and Margaret opened her mouth to argue. Pitch was attacking, and the Guardians were rushing to meet him. It made no sense for her to stay here. Armed with the Omnicron, she was strong enough to help the others, new as she was. More to the point, she had an axe to grind in Pitch's skull, and she couldn't do that sitting here.

"No," said Tsar Luna, shaking his head. His monocle reflected the firelight, hiding his eye. "I must focus my energies on empowering my Guardians. You will remain here and ensure that Pitch does not use the battle below as a distraction to strike at the manor, and at me, whilst my defenses are lowered."

Margaret swallowed. She wanted to argue. She was new, freshly raised, and she wanted nothing more than to join the fight as best she could. It was because of Pitch that her entire life and world had been upended, that she'd bled to death in her brother's arms… It was because of him and nobody else.

Yet, it was important that she remain all the same.

Pursing her lips, she nodded once and settled down in the armchair.

* * *

Jack was the first to reach the battlefield, and his throat grew tight as the sight. The grand towers of the North Pole burned with black flame, and the withered husks of the elves fell from the terraces. The fearlings swirled through the air, and the walls had been breached in half-a-hundred places. The yetis, those who still remained standing, fought with axe and mace, their bellows furious as they defended their home. Tsar Nicholas, his son's namesake and the Guardian of Wonder, was still fighting back the tide within the courtyard, but it was clear that Jack had arrived not a moment too soon.

The flying fortress of Pitch Black hovered in the sky near the North pole, and thick chains tethered it in place. The army emerged from the castle in a neverending swarm, and he could see Pitch himself standing upon the balcony, overseeing the battle with his scythe in hand. _Brazen,_ he thought, _and foolish._ The Black Castle had not been seen in over a thousand years, even during the siege of Punjam Hy Loo, but for Pitch to fly it here himself. _He thinks he can win._ A chill ran down Jack's back. It was the only thing that made sense in all this chaos. Pitch would have never committed himself to this attack unless he was certain of victory. He would never risk his entire army, his castle, and himself on anything less.

 _Well, we'll see about that._

Sweeping his staff out in front of him, he unleashed a dozen bolts of frost into the air. They slammed into the gaping wounds ripped into the castle walls, bursting into thick sheets of ice to plug the gaps. The fearlings swirling around the towers took notice, their cackling drowned by the ringing of the bells, and they rose in his direction. Jack snorted. With a flick of his wrist, the sky opened up behind him, and shards of ice rained down from the clouds. They pierced the fearlings, freezing them as they flew and forcing them to slam into the ground and shatter.

It was not in his nature to attack with such ferocity, but the winter was harsh and cruel, and Jack had a very sharp axe to grind.

From the corner of his eye, he spied North being forced into a corner. Without hesitation, he descended from on high, slashing his staff through the air to clear a path through the roiling fearlings. They scattered, and his eyes blazed blue as he reached the ground. Lashing out, he thrust his staff through the torso of the nearest Nightmare, forcing a jolt of frost into its heart. It burst into tiny shards of ice, and with a snap of his fingers, the shards buried themselves into the Nightmares surrounding him.

"You took your time," said Santa, spitting out a mouthful of blood into the snow. The burly man's red coat was shredded, and his eyes were furious. "Where are the others?"

"Coming," said Jack. "Pan's sealing off Neverland in case things go badly. Alice and Toothiana are marshalling their armies. Bunnymund and Sandy left before me, but they can't travel as fast. And Manny's keeping the new girl with him for some reason. Beats me. We could use her right now."

"And Manny himself?" asked Santa, the fury only growing in his eyes. "Has he not seen fit to bestir himself?"

"Did you expect him too?" asked Jack, raising an eyebrow.

He never received an answer. A black arrow tore through the air and he leapt out of the way, whirling around just as Pitch swung his scythe at the space where his head had once been. The Nightmare King had descended on them in the few moments it had taken to have their brief exchange, and Jack could have kicked himself for letting his guard down upon the battlefield.

He had duelled many opponents in his long life, and there was usually a brief exchange before they clashed. Yet, he had no words left for this vile being, only hatred. He charged, his staff crackling with rage as he swung it at Pitch, who sidestepped with ease and swung his scythe in response. Jack ducked, his eyes flaring as a storm of icicles burst around them, and Pitch cut through them without so much as blinking. A bolt of black burst from his fingers, and Jack took to the air, unleashing a bolt of frost in response.

Their attacks met in midair and, with a screech, burst into a flurry of blackened snowflakes. Like shadows, they swirled around his eyes, blotting his vision, and he barely dodged the next swing of the scythe. Rubbing at his eyes to clear the darkness, Jack heard a furious bellow. He opened his eyes just in time to see Pitch turning to face Santa, and he knew that the time to strike was now.

Santa's swords descended and Pitch raised his scythe to block the blow, and Jack thrust out a hand. The bolt of ice took Pitch in the small of his back, driving him to his knees, and North's swords descended upon his throat. Then, almost as quickly, a figure had stepped between them, catching Santa's blade with her own. She was made from shadows, her features swirling and shifting, but Santa's expression was horrified as he backed away. Not understanding, Jack's eyes widened as the man began to speak in his native tongue, a hoarse language that was foreign to his ears. The girl responded in a voice like nails dragging across a blackboard, and Pitch chuckled as he got to his feet and rounded on Jack.

"Did you really think I'd come without company?" he asked, his dark eyes flickering with mirth. "I did learn a few things from the last time we fought, after all."

"Who is that?" Jack asked, unable to help himself. Stepping into a defensive stance, he circled Pitch, keeping his staff poised and ready.

"You don't need to know." Pitch laughed, long and hard. "All you need to do is turn around."

Something rippled at his throat, and he spun on his heels, erecting a wall of ice behind him to guard his back. A shard of blackened ice shattered against the wall, having just missed his throat, and Jack's eyes grew wide. _No. No. No._

She approached: skin grey and frostbitten, hair white as ash, eyes bluer than the fjords she'd once called her home. Her sword was ice, and her crown sparkled upon her brow, cracked in a dozen places, and she smiled.

"Elsa," he whispered, staring at his wife, now risen as Faceless.

* * *

Pitch Black's treachery knew no ends, thought Tsar Nicholas as he backed away from the shadow approaching him. Her scarves billowed behind her, and her coat was ragged and patched.

Tsar Nicholas could fight for the rest of his days, but never against her. In life, he had loved her very much, more than he had loved himself, and he had gifted toys whenever she'd asked. Once upon a December, her eyes had filled with wonder, and when his had closed forever, her name had been the last upon her lips.

"Anastasia," he murmured, dropping his blades. "My beloved daughter."

In a gown as black as night, her tousled brunette hair now jagged and dark, she smiled a sad smile as she pressed the knife into his throat.

* * *

In his long life, Jack had fought in countless battles. He'd faced off against Pitch more times than he could count, he'd sparred with Emily Jane, he'd duelled the Fearlings and the Nightmare Men, and he'd put down more Faceless than all the others put together. He was powerful—the first of the Guardians. Yet, never, not once, had he believed he'd one day find himself forced to fight his own wife. Pitch, you will burn for this.

He swallowed as they circled each other. Even in death, Elsa was beautiful, and it stung at every corner of his heart to see her like this: Skin burned grey by frostbite, brittle hair turned the colour of ash, but it was the expression she wore that was the worst. His Elsa had never clothed herself in haughtiness, and her smiles had never been so cruel. This isn't my Elsa. He shuddered, extending Twinetender ahead of him. For the first time in forever, he felt his age.

"He will pay for this," said Jack as he rose into the air, Twinetender crackling in his grasp as Elsa approached him.

She giggled, the sound sending a shiver down his spine, and she lunged. A jagged shard of blackened ice burst from her palm, and he spun out of the way. Catching her ice on Twinetender's crook, he hurled in back down at her before firing a volley of icicles. With a wave of her hand, the ice turned to snowflakes, and a blade formed in her hand.

He caught the blade with his staff and turned it, vaulting over her head and kicking her in the back. Elsa went down with a hiss, but she spun around as she fell, ice bursting up around her in barbed spires. They tore themselves free from the earth and flew at him, and he gritted his teeth as he knocked each aside with his staff before replying with a volley of his own.

A brilliant plume of light lit the air, and he glanced up for a fraction of a second, just in time to see Alice hurling what looked like a comet of pure light at Pitch. The Boogeyman cackled, disappearing into a pool of shadows as the comet turned a portion of the fortress into a smoking crater. Then, Elsa was charging at him, slivers of ice spiralling through the air, and his concentration snapped back to him just as something—it looked like a top hat—went spinning through the air like a frisbee in Alice's direction.

Jack caught Elsa's blade in the crook of his staff and shoved it aside, and a whorl of frost burst from around his feet to strike her in the chest. She screamed, the sound enough to make him want to tear off his own ears, and for the barest moment in time, he hesitated. Elsa. It was all the time she needed. Her glowed gleamed as it buried itself into his shoulder, and he yelled as blood bloomed across his jacket.

Gritting his teeth, he tore himself away from her and yanked the blade free from his flesh. Hurling it at her, he brushed his fingers over the wound, sealing it with a fine layer of ice, and he rose into the sky. He had to focus. This wasn't his Elsa.

"Jack!"

Toothiana's warning cry came just in time for him to whirl around and see the roiling mass of nightmares charging in his direction. Tendrils of cold curled around his body and his eyes glowed blue as he thrust out his staff, and like lightning, jagged beams of frost shot into the nightmares. They scattered and screeched, most collapsing to dust under his onslaught, and a second later, he darted aside as another jagged icicle flew through the air. The nightmares were circling back around, and there were a rippling wave of Fearlings approaching, and Elsa was rising up to meet him on a tower of ice, and if the cackling was to be believed, Pitch was still here. He could not fight on four fronts at once. There was only one option.

"Nightlight, bright light. Sweet dreams I bestow," he murmured. "Sleep tight, all night. Forever I will glow."

The strain of the spell almost brought him plummeting to the ground, and he tasted blood in his mouth as Twinetender ignited in his grasp. Frost-tinged starlight spiralled around him, and the sky grew blacker than the darkest nights. The Fearlings chittered and fled as they were struck down, bursting into puffs of vapor, and the nightmares screamed as they dissolved into piles of golden sand. Elsa shrieked, averting her eyes, and a maniacal voice roared in fury.

Tendrils of black burst out of the ground to surround him, and with a blink, Jack dispelled them. His body trembling as the light began to fade, he sank down to earth, leaning heavily on Twinetender, and he turned to face Elsa. She staggered forward, her skin covered in burns, black blood dribbling from her mouth and nose, and her sword appeared in her hand.

"I pray that Nick never has to see you like this," said Jack, and something strange flickered across her eyes. For a second, she lowered her sword an inch, a lost expression settling on her face, and it was all the time that Jack needed.

* * *

The Nightmares had broken into the citadel itself, but his stone eggs were holding the corridors. In enclosed spaces such as these, they were at their best, and Bunnymund was certain that he could hold the line long enough for Toothiana to cut her way to his position.

Then, he smelled it. Acrid and black, the stench of smoke filled the hallways of the North Pole, and he reached for his boomerang. There was no smoke, and he heard no fire, but the smell grew stronger and stronger all the same. It was so familiar, and he shuddered.

Hellfire. Bunnymund could smell Amoré burn around him once more, and he could see her dance through the blaze. Her skin was fire, her hair was a ravaged mess of flames. The boomerang slipped from still fingers. She… she had been the one person in this world he could not save, the person he had failed most.

"Esmeralda," he said. "I'm sorry."

She laughed, the hellfire a whorl around her, and her kiss burned the blood from his veins.

* * *

Pan arrived to desolation, the likes of which he hadn't seen in centuries. Strangely, the North Pole was silent and deserted, save for the brief flares of magic that erupted within the castle itself. Of Pitch, the only sign was the Black Castle, but even he did not dare enter without the support of the other Guardians. Speaking of whom… They'd been here. He could feel the surges of their power as they fought, but it was growing fainter with every second.

Landing, he kept a wary eye around him as he landed. The snow was black with corrupted dreamsand, and corpses littered the ground for as far as the eye could see. Passing by the withered husks of elves and fairies, he took care to not step upon the thousands of broken wings buried in the snow. Bunnymund's eggs lay cracked beside the courtyard, their mouths gaping open. He could barely make out the yetis, for the snow was falling thicker than ever, and when the flakes drifted onto his lips, he could taste grief.

A flare of frost tore into the sky from behind a broken tower, and Peter whirled. _Jack._ A woman laughed in response, her voice sharper than a knife, and black hoarfrost burst around the tower. Peter ducked, cloaking himself in starlight to keep himself being pierced by the barbed shards. _Was that? No!_ It couldn't be. Peter darted forward, determined to find out what was going on.

A Nightmare Man burst from the ground. Forged from shadow and armored in black steel, the creature raised a serrated sword into the air. With a roll of his eyes, Peter snapped his fingers. The Nightmare Man exploded, and Peter turned back to the tower only to see that Jack and whatever he'd been fighting were gone. A spire of frost erupted from the other end of the courtyard, and Peter turned again, only to pause at the chittering of Fearlings. He looked up in time to see the small swarm descend upon him, and he destroyed them with a single blink of his eyes.

"Pitch," he yelled, certain that the Nightmare King was still present.

There was no answer save for laughter which forced daggers into his heart. It was high and shrill and twisted, but even corrupted, he could hear the echo of what it had once been. _Like the tinkling of a bell._ Wings fluttered behind him, and he didn't want to turn, but he had no choice.

 _Tinkerbell._ Her wings were grey and tattered, and her eyes were red as blood. She was young, not old and gnarled as she'd been when he'd buried her, and her golden hair burned black as midnight. She reached out to him, cupping his cheeks in the palm of her hands, and he fell to his knees before her, the dagger falling from his grasp.

"Tink," he whispered. "What did he do to you?"

Her laughter grew mournful as she stared into his eyes. Even in this ruined state, her hands were soft and warm, and the memories surged forth at her touch. They were dancing across the moonlit sky, one arm on her shoulder and the other on her waist. Then, she was perched on his shoulders as he closed a deal, content to remain in her miniaturized form if it meant she'd be carried in his pocket. Her lips were upon his, then, and almost immediately they were sitting on the beach enjoying a picnic as the starry waves lapped at their ankles.

His Tink. His flicker of happiness.

The scythe took him in the back, bursting out his gut, and he gasped as she dissolved before his eyes until all that was left was a pile of sparkling soot and a few crumbling bones. The scythe jerked out of him, and he looked up, his eyes flickering as the tears fell.

"That was a low blow, Kozmotis," he said, pressing a hand to his wound. "Even for you."

Golden blood poured from the cut, staining his green tunic and flowing through his fingers, and it was all he could do to not collapse.

"What else could I do, Rumpel?" asked Pitch, kneeling beside him. "We both know that I could never take you in a fair fight."

Pan's form flickered at the words, his youthful features melting away. His skin grew hard as leather, and yellow pooled in his eyes. The ichor flowed more freely as his illusion shifted, and he could taste blood on his tongue. Against all odds, he chuckled, his head lolling to the side.

"You should give her credit," continued Pitch, steadying him as he slumped forward, keeping him on his knees with a single hand upon the nape of his neck. "It's very hard to raise a fairy, and her spirit fought me at every turn. She would never fight you, not like the others. She was the only one who died pure. The rest had hate and anger that I could use. Tinkerbell… she lived a brief but happy life, and the only negativity I could use was the grief she felt at leaving you behind."

 _He'd always known how to twist the knife,_ Rumpel thought. The toxins were leaching through his veins like cold fire, and it was hard to breathe. The scythe had cut deep, too deep. Tens of thousands of years and this was how it would end. He would laugh if he wasn't in so much pain.

"Pure," Rumpel scoffed, black spots dancing across his vision. "Joy would weep tears of blood… to see you this way."

"I know," said Pitch. "Your game is over, Rumpel. Know that you will be alone in the darkness, as I have been. I am not merciful that way, you see. You will not know oblivion. I know the pain to condemn another to that fate. I know it very well. When my allies abandoned me to ten thousand years of solitude in the deepest corner of space."

Rumpel slumped to the ground as Pitch released him, landing in Tink's remains. He forced one final smile to his lips as he caught sight of the full moon above him, and he shook his head. _Tink always loved my smile._ The moonbeams wrapped around him, and he felt the millennia fade. He was young again, so young, the boy he had been before becoming Rumpel, before being raised as Pan, before trying to balance both parts of himself.

" _Your mother would be proud,"_ a voice whispered in his head, and his smile grew. " _And I don't forget my champions."_

With the last of his strength, Pan lunged as the moon erupted above them both. Grasping Pitch by the collar, he held the Nightmare King in place as a blinding beam of moonlight struck them both. Pitch screamed and Pan laughed as the wrath of Tsar Luna exploded around them, scorching the very bones of the earth. Only, he felt no pain, only release, after so long.

.

 _The world went white, and Pan staggered to his feet._ Grass _swayed beneath his feet, and he turned. Was this death? He didn't know. Padding forward, he climbed the small hill in front of him, and tears brimmed in his eyes. There was a small cottage there, with a red roof and a red door, and a white picket fence around it. There were a pair of names upon the mailbox, one written in a messy scrawl, the other in a flowing script. What are we? A bed and breakfast?_

 _And there, standing at the gate with a smile on her face and wearing a green dress, was someone he'd thought he'd never see again._

 _"Hello Peter," she said, her laugh soft and sweet, like the tinkling of a bell. "I've been waiting for a very long time._ "

* * *

"Is that the best you can do, Tsar Luna?" bellowed Pitch, cackling as the light faded. The skin sloughed from his body, and he was burned beyond all recognition, but despite everything, he was still alive.

Tsar Luna glared from his balcony. His fury crackled like static in the air, and he had to fight to restrain himself. No, he could not be rash. Not now. Not when Pan had already sacrificed so much to see this through to the end. He was not a man for tears, but his eyes stung at the thought. Pan. No, he could not think of it. If he did, he would lose control, and that would complicate matters a great deal. He had to remain methodical in his approach.

His wrath had been a mistake. Had he not drawn back his power at the last second, all would have been lost. That was something he could not allow. Killing Pitch was not the answer. If it was, he'd have done it already, thousands of years ago. But, if he did, the fearlings that dwelled within his body would be freed, and each was as powerful as Alice. There were the fearlings that they had fought in the Age of the Dawn, and they were beasts with no intelligence or mercy.

If they escaped, they would devour all of creation, and even he would not be enough to stop them. No, it must be the way it was, with sacrifice after sacrifice as he moved his pieces into position. Pan had done his best. _Not Pan. He was never Pan. You know his name, old man. Rumpelstiltskin. The son you condemned to die._

Tsar Luna wondered, not for the first time, what his Stella would say if she could see him now. Would she turn from him in disgust, or would she understand? He supposed he would never know. She had always loved their son, though. _She will never forgive me for this. Never._

"Tsar Luna, you must let me go," said Margaret, pushing her way onto the balcony. "I am useless here, and they are losing."

He sighed. So young, so foolish, but he'd needed to raise her all the same. The girl still had a role to play in the great game, and his son was no longer here to move the pieces for him. Rumpelstiltskin… his greatest secret and his greatest shame, and the one thing in the world that he had still loved... in his own way.

"You are not battle-tested," he said, keeping his voice level. "If you go now, you will die."

"I'm new. That's the point," she argued. "Pitch won't expect me. I'm not an idiot. I know that I can't fight him. I can help the others. He doesn't know about me yet, Tsar Luna, and my brother is still alive. I don't have a ghost for him to raise."

"It is not wise to put all your eggs—"

"We are losing," she all but screamed. "Peter Pan is dead. Don't you care? He's older than the stars themselves and he's dead. Who's next? The Godmother? Jack Frost? They're fighting for their lives, Tsar Luna. Don't you care?"

"You have no idea of what I have just lost," he said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to obliterate the girl where she stood. _Rumpelstiltskin… Peter Pan… The Lord of Neverland. My son. My only son._ He had to close his eyes to keep from blasting Pitch again, and this time, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back.

"I know you'll lose more if I don't help them. Let me go."

Tsar Luna took a deep breath. This was not according to the plan. If something went wrong. _Something has already gone wrong, old man._ No, he had to see this through. Blood would be spilled until the world drowned in it, but it would lead to a world that was free of Pitch. When the dust settled, it would be a permanent end to Pitch. Every sacrifice and every loss... all for a world that would be forever free from Pitch's darkness. That was worth it all, wasn't it?

"Go," he said. "Before I change my mind. Go."

* * *

The dreamsand trickled from his fingers as Sandman came upon the rocking chair, and the man upon it was old and wizened, a toymaker without measure. He stared, jaw going slack, and he remembered. Painted wood and strings, and a father who have given him the world.

 _Gepetto_ , he thought. In his mind, his nose began to grow.

His father laughed, and the strings flew from wrists to close upon Sandman's throat.

* * *

Toothiana's swords were sharp, but the smell was sharper still. The jungle surrounded her as he swung from the vines, and his name echoed in her mind. _Man-cub. Raised by wolves._ The earthen smell of the river and the damp earth took her back almost a thousand years, when the raiders had first come to their village.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, Mowgli," she whispered.

His fangs were sharp as those of the wolves who'd raised him as he sank his teeth into her throat.

* * *

"No," said Alice. "Not you. I will not fight you."

The Hatter drew close, his manic smile twisted into a macabre grin. He twirled on his heels, leaning on his cane, and his eyes were as mad as they'd ever been. The vorpal blade trembled in her hands as she pointed it at him, taking a few steps back.

"I'm warning you, Hatter," she said. "Don't make me do this."

The Hatter tittered and drew a long knife. He was quick, but she was quicker, but he nicked her across the arm anyway. Blood soaked into her sleeve, and she shook her head. _Fight._ But, she couldn't. Not really. She could dance around him for the entire night, dodging his blows, but it hurt to raise a sword to him. Her duty… she had a duty, she knew, but what was duty compared to the friendship she'd once shared with him.

"Please, Hatter," she pleaded. "Please."

He dashed forward, and a beanstalk burst through the floor to wrap around him. She stared in alarm as it squeezed, growing larger and larger, and she turned to see Margaret standing in the doorway with her leather-bound tome open.

"I read a story once," said Margaret in a sing-song voice, her grey wings fluttering out behind her. "Of a beanstalk that grew to touch the sky. It grew from the ground and wrapped around a man, and it squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until he was dead."

The Hatter shrieked, fighting against the beanstalk, but it grew tighter before her eyes. _Such a painful way to go._ Tears in her eyes, Alice raised the vorpal blade and shoved it into his chest with as much force as she could. He crumpled to dust as the beanstalk stopped growing, and she wanted to scream. _No,_ she told herself, _he's dead. He's been dead for thousands of years. He's just a ghost now._

"Thank you," she said. "I'm surprised he sent you."

"He had no choice," said Margaret. "Peter's gone. The others as well. I can't feel them anymore."

"How?" asked Alice, trying to compose herself. She reached out with her mind, searching for the others, and to her horror, she couldn't feel them. _No. No, they couldn't be gone._

"Same as you," said Margaret, "He knew your weaknesses. All of them. He's fought you before."

If the Hatter had come for her. _Tink's bones. The plundering of Elsa's tomb. The desecration of Mowgli's grave when Punjam Hy Loo had been besieged._ They should have known. Tsar Luna above, where they all gone? Were Margaret and her all that was left of the Guardians?

"The day is lost," she said, her voice numb. "I cannot feel the others, and we cannot fight Pitch alone. Hold onto me."

Margaret looked like she wanted to argue, but she reached out to grasp Alice's arm regardless. Closing her eyes, Alice felt the Vorpal sword shift in her hand, returning to the form of her wand. With a single flick, the two of them vanished in a shower of sparks.

* * *

" _Promise me, Jack," she'd whispered to him. "Promise me."_

He dragged himself across the ground, bloodied and bruised, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Behind him, she lay still upon the ground, pierced with his ice. The shadow that had been his wife had fought without mercy, and it had killed a part of him to end her suffering. _Elsa…_ She'd always been a warrior, but without the mercy and kindness that had stayed her hand in life.

Finally, he reached his staff, and he felt a brief flicker of strength return as he grasped Twinetwender between his broken fingers. Rising into the air, he glanced around him, trying to see through the film of blood covering his eyes. The North Pole was gone. Pan was gone. Jack had seen him burn. He didn't know about the others. They were likely gone as well. Pitch had been right. He'd always been right.

Love was their weakness, and he had used it to break them. Jack's breath came in ragged pants. It was hard to breathe with cracked ribs. He needed to leave. The Black Castle was still here. He couldn't fight them. Not like this. At least…

A tendril of corrupted dreamsand closed around his ankle, yanking him back to the ground. Swiping at it with his staff, he severed it with ease, but his hopes died in his chest. It was impossible. Pitch was standing on the ground, leaning on his staff, his burned skin sloughing off his body. Yellow bone was visible in places. It was impossible. Nobody could have survived Tsar Luna's wrath. Nobody.

"Did I say you can leave?" Pitch sneered. In his hands, his scythe shifted, collapsing into corrupted dreamsand and reforming into a bow. Nocking a black arrow, the Nightmare King grinned as his lips fell from his face.

Jack flew as fast as he could, his blood dripping from his wounds like rain as he soared across the desolation. He couldn't stay. Alone and weakened, he was no match for Pitch. He needed to reach Arendelle. _Nick… Promise me you'll protect him, Jack._ More than that, he needed the Diamond Lance. As Nightlight, he could stand against Pitch. As Jack…

The first arrow took him in the thigh, punching through the front and sticking out the back. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, but he dipped lower in the sky regardless. _No. I need to keep going. I can't die here. Nick…_ The second arrow hit his shoulder, and the third punched through his gut. Twinetender fell from his grasp, but he couldn't slow to grab it. Gliding his hand across his wounds, he let his frost take hole, stopping the bleeding if not the corruption, and he put on a fresh burst of speed.

The fourth and fifth arrows both struck him in the chest.

Jack cried out as he crashed into the ground, flipping over thrice and landing in a heap of tangled limbs. A thick smear of blood trailed behind him in the snow, and he gasped for breath. Tsar Luna, it hurt. _Promise me, Jack._ Fighting his way to his feet, he began to run, stumbling, each step sending a fresh wave of pain through his body. Jumping, he took flight again, finally out of range.

Something punched him in the stomach, and he gasped. _Twinetender._ His power flickered briefly, but he pushed on regardless. He was more than a staff. Pitch snapping it would not be enough to stop him keeping his promise. Putting everything he had left into his flight, Jack Frost pressed on. _Arendelle. I need to reach Arendelle._

It hurt. Everything hurt, and the corruption was spreading through his veins. It was too much. He could barely move. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and see Elsa again, not the wraith that had worn her face, but the girl he'd loved. _I love a queen as fair as winter, with moonlight in her hair._ He couldn't rest. Not yet. Not while Pitch was still alive.

 _Promise me, Jack, that you'll keep our son safe._

A whip tangled around his ankle once more, and he yelped as it yanked it to the ground. The snow broke his fall, but the scream of pain left his lips nonetheless. Staggering to his feet, he held out a warning hand as Pitch approached.

"I put you down last time, Pitch," said Jack, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do it again if I have to."

Pitch laughed, throwing back his head in mirth. He had always been unnatural, but his burns now made him distinctly hideous. His flesh was visible were his skin was gone, and what remained of it was dry and cracked. Bones jutted out of his body, and he didn't have lips of eyelids. Leaning on his scythe, he approached, still cackling, and Jack fired a warning volley of frost from his outstretched hand.

The bolts flickered and died within a few feet, collapsing into snowflakes, and Jack sank to the ground.

"You're going to die alone in this frozen land, Nightlight," said Pitch. "Tsar Luna should have left you dead. It would be more merciful."

"He… raised me for… a reason," Jack gasped, his blood spraying across the snow. "And… I'm never alone. I've lived… I've loved. I'm not… alone."

"You will be," said Pitch, his smirk growing. "With the Guardians gone, I can pick the humans apart, one by one. From the Imperium, my armies will march across the land, devouring all in their path. Do you know where my first stop will be, Jack?"

Pitch knelt in front of him, grasping him by the chin with a single skeletal finger.

"Arendelle," said Pitch. "I won't kill your brat, though. Not right away, at least. I'll make his dying last a thousand years, so that he'll feel every last bit of my pain before he goes, and then through it all, he'll wonder why his daddy didn't save him."

 _Promise me, Jack._ Tendrils of ice burst around him as he rose into the air, still bleeding, still broken, but filled with rage all the same. It sputtered around him, escaping his control as his eyes flared, and he clapped his hands together like thunder. The ice burst from him, and Pitch didn't even have time to scream as it encased him, swirling thicker and thicker until not even the sun could pierce the depths of the glacier. The moon glowed above him, and burning sigils engraved themselves onto the glacier. _Wards,_ he realized, and he intensified his cold, focusing it as Tsar Luna strengthened his ice.

 _I can't kill him. I can't fight him. I can slow him down. I can trap him and buy us all time._ Blood vessels burst in his head and blood streamed from his eyes, but he forced himself to keep going. Against Pitch, he stood no chance, but he had no choice.

Jack sank to his knees, his head spinning. He had just a few droplets of power left. The glacier wouldn't hold forever. It was his ice, though, and only time could thaw it. Time… he'd bought them time… but at what cost. His ears were wet as blood leaked from them, and he groaned as he staggered to his feet and forced himself back into the sky.

Arendelle. He needed to go home. " _Promise me, Jack. Protect our son."_


	52. Requiem

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Five**

 **Requiem**

* * *

"Your Grace," said the woman, bowing low. "I come before you as a humble subject, seeking the gift of justice."

Nick leaned forward in his throne, the crown heavy upon his brow. The matter before him was a terrible one, but not unexpected given the current clime. A tanner and a soldier had gotten drunk in a tavern, and there had been a disagreement which had ended in a knife being shoved into the tanner's eye. Now, his widow begged for justice, which Nick would grant. Still, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. _They banded together in the war, and now that we are in a tenuous peace, they return to their squabbling selves._

Still, the soldier had been a man in his employ, and that was something he could not tolerate.

"Justice will be granted," said Nick, "As will restitution. Sir Bolvar will be fined a sum of a hundred coins, to be paid from his estate, and he will be beheaded come dawn. I pray you find some solace in that."

The woman bowed low, her fringe all but touching the ground, and her legs trembled as she rose. Nick closed his eyes for a second, not wanting to look. She was an old woman, and the world had not been kind to her. She had lost three sons during the first rebellion of the Summer Isles, and two more when his mother had marched upon the Imperium. During the siege, all six of her grandchildren had given their lives in defence of his kingdom.

As the woman took her leave and the next petitioner made to approach the dais, the northernmost window of the throne room shattered. Someone hurtled to the ground to skid across the smooth floor, leaving a trailing smear of blood in their wake. Nick was on his feet in an instant, staff in hand as his guards surged forward, and a woman screamed. Aunt Anna was on her feet, trying to clear the room, and Uncle Kristoff leaned upon his cane as he reached for his axe. In the corner of the room, Morgan's eyes flickered to their draconic form, and Nick could all but see the flames gathering in his lover's throat.

Then, his throat went dry as he caught sight of the shock of white hair, and he was running. The courtiers and peasants were staring, as were the lords and the gentry, but he didn't care.

"Tsar Luna above," said the Duchess of Almera, her old voice shrill. "Is that Jack Frost?"

Nick barely heard her words. Dropping to his knees, he turned the man over, and his heart sank. _Dad._ His father's face was sticky with dried blood, and his body was run through with broken arrows. _No._

"Dad," he said, his voice cracking. "Dad!"

"Summon the healers," yelled Aunt Anna, rushing to his side. "Now. And Lady Maleficent as well. She may well be needed."

"Dad, wake up," yelled Nick, shaking his father. "Dad!"

Jack Frost stirred, his eyes cracking open, and the faintest of smiles cross his lips. The room was in commotion around them, but Nick could barely hear them whispering. _Did the king just call that guardian his father? King Nicholas' father is Jack Frost? Queen Elsa lied… she lied to us all. That boy is not human._ He didn't care. All that mattered was his father. Panic blossomed as he clasped his father's bloody fingers.

"Dad, you're going to be okay," said Nick. "Listen to me. You're going to be okay. The healers are on their way."

"Gone," Jack whispered. "Beaten. We were… beaten, Nick. Pitch. He killed them. Santa… Bunny… Pan. Alice and Tooth… as well. I think. Dead. He's coming, Nick."

"Tsar Luna have mercy," muttered Aunt Anna.

Nick's mind was reeling. Uncle Peter? Dead? How? His honorary uncle was the Lord of Neverland. The Godmother as well? No, they didn't matter. Not now. All that mattered was making sure his dad survived. He couldn't lose him as well. He just couldn't. Not so soon after losing Mother. Tightening his grasp around his father's fingers, he shook his head.

"No, Dad," he said. "Save your strength. Please. You can tell me later, when you're well. Please. Please, just hold on."

"Nick… so proud… you." Jack Frost smiled. "Promised… promised your mother I'd look after you… Did a… pretty shit job of it. Be strong, Nick. He's coming. Froze him… froze him in ice. Time… you have time. Succeed... Please… succeed where we failed."

"You didn't fail. Dad, you're here, you're safe. You're a Guardian. You're immortal. You can't die, Dad. Please don't leave me." Nick was crying, the tears freezing on his cheeks. There were arms around him, holding him steady. He thought they were Morgan's, but he couldn't be sure. The crowd had grown around them. The guards were clearing a path for the healers. His dad would make it. He had to. They'd heal him.

"We can bring you back, Jack," said Aunt Anna, and Nick stared wildly. _Bring him back. No. He wasn't dying. He. Wasn't. Dying._ "You said it happened before. You told Elsa and I. All it takes it the belief of one innocent child."

"Can't… not this time." Jack's lips barely moved. "Not faded… not lost… not… corrupted. Dead. Gone. I'm… dying… No helping it. Should've… should've done." He fell silent, his head lolling to the side.

"Dad! Dad, please." Nick was bawling, his chest heaving. His crown slipped from his head to clatter to the ground, and he didn't even care. People were whispering, and he didn't care. Morgan was holding him, and it didn't even matter. _Dad… Dad, please._

"Elsa…" murmured Jack, staring at nothing. "I dreamed… I dreamed I'd lost you."

Then, his chest grew still and his fingers went slack, and Nick howled. Shoving himself forward, he wrapped his arms around his father, and for the first time, his dad didn't hug him back. He came undone, shrieking his pleas into his father's ear, begging him to come back. _Please. Dad. Please, don't leave me. Don't leave me as well._

* * *

"I am told that the king and yourself have taken to sleeping in separate quarters," said Silvanus, a strange look in his eye. "That is not wise. Word has already reached the nobility, and it will soon reach the commoners as well."

"If he apologised, I would return to him in an instant," said Alyssa as she sank into her chaisé lounge. "All he does is drink and spend his time in the barracks, playing cards with the men."

"He visits with his mother quite often," said Silvanus, raising an eyebrow. "My spies report that the king is a very broken man right now. Perhaps, it would be best for you to turn the other cheek, as it were, rather than wait for an apology you know will never come."

Alyssa wanted to scream. _Don't you think I know that?_ Cornelius grieved and mourned, and he was in pain. She knew that. Everyone felt pain in their own way, and this was apparently her husband's. Yet, what was she supposed to do? She'd tried to talk to him and she'd gotten nowhere. She had an entire kingdom to rule, one that was fractured and in a constant state of collapse, and she needed Cor's support as well. Tsar Luna forgive her, but she didn't have the energy to keep pushing at the walls he'd built around himself after an entire day of ruling as well.

Maybe, if he'd joined her at council meetings or sat upon his throne when court was held, the workload would be diminished and they'd have time for each other. Right now, however, she was doing it all, and she was tired. She had never been this tired in her life.

"The commoners believe that their king and queen are happy and that there is an heir on the way," said Silvanus. "A fractured reign will break their spirits more than the war already has."

"I know," said Alyssa. "I know. Have you found the man I asked you to?"

"Lance Strongbow," said Silvanus. "We have been able to confirm that he survived the battle of Sommersea, but we have no idea where he's gone. My men are searching, but we need more time."

"A pity," said Alyssa, hanging her head. "I had hoped that perhaps a friendly face would be enough to rouse Cornelius from his stupor. Lance has known him since he was born. He's all but an uncle to my husband. Double the men you have searching. I need him."

Silvanus nodded. "If that is all, Queen Alyssa?"

"Yes," she said. "You are dismissed."

Her general took his leave, shutting the door to her study behind her. No sooner had he gone, did she sink down further into the lounge, tears stinging at her eyes. _Go to Corona, then, if it'll make you happy, since you're so very miserable here._ Her father's words, not hers, and she had been happy… for a time. Yet, how many others had known misery because of her actions? How many had bled and died because she had chosen to marry Cornelius in secret? What had even been the point of it all if this was what they'd become?

She was nearly eighteen years old, and she had the weight of two kingdoms on her shoulders, and where was her husband? Drunk, as usual. Her father had been right. She had been a stupid girl who hadn't known a damn thing about the world, but she'd rushed off on impulse just because she could, and now look where she was? No, she couldn't give up. Not after everything that she'd been through to get to this point.

Gathering her skirts around herself as she rose, she made her way through the castle, grateful that it was near dinnertime and that the servants would all be busy preparing the dining room. They did not need to see her like this. After what felt like forever, she reached the king's quarters, which were three floors below her own, and she knocked upon the door.

"Cornelius," she said. "We need to talk."

It creaked open, and she froze. The sheets had been ripped, and the furniture had been toppled. Ink spilled across the carpet, and glass littered the floor. She stared, not believing what she was seeing. Had there been an attack? Why had she not been notified? Then, she noticed him, sitting on the window seat with a bottle of wine in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other.

"Talk, then," he slurred, not turning to look at her.

"Will you even hear what I have to say?" she asked, "Or will you shove me to the ground and storm off again?"

"That was a mistake," he replied, gritting his teeth. "I never meant to."

"You still did it," she countered. "If I had landed wrong, I could well have miscarried. Do I not deserve an apology, at the very least?"

"I never meant to," he repeated, bringing the bottle to his lips. Wine sloshed down his chin to soak across his tunic, and she sighed as she sank onto the corner of the bed. Silvanus had been right. She would never get an apology from him.

"Do you remember what you said to me that night in Aquitania?" she asked.

"I said a lot of things," he replied. "You said a lot of things. And yet here we are."

"Here we are?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Cor, don't you dare put this one on me. I have my flaws. I've done a lot of terrible things, but I've owned them, each and every one. This one in on you."

"Aren't you self-righteous? Didn't you go to pieces for days after what happened to Amoré? Am I not allowed to grieve?"

"While I grieved, I accompanied you to Arendelle for Nick because he was our friend. While I grieved, I fought beside you to retake your homeland. While I grieved, I had to watch my husband go Faceless, then watch him die, and I still held him up after all of that. While you grieved, I ruled from your throne, and I'm the one still keeping your kingdom together."

"Do you want a medal?" he asked, turning to glare at her. "I know I'm an idiot and a failure, Alyssa. I don't need you to remind me."

 _Is that what he thinks? Cor…_ Alyssa sucked in a breath. No. She still loved him. It was hard to still love him, but she did.

"I think you're hurting and lashing out," she said, her voice soft. "I think you're in a bad headspace right now. I don't think you're an idiotic failure, Cor. I just… I just wish you'd remember that you're not the only person hurt in all this and that I need you right now. Your kingdom needs you. Please, Cor, be the king you were born to be."

He remained silent, bringing the bottle to his lips once more. She stared, hoping against hope that he'd say something, anything, but all that flowed was the wine. Finally, after what felt like hours, she rose to her feet and left, closing the door behind her and masking her tears until she reached her bedroom.

Then, and only then, when the door was locked behind her and nobody could see her break, did she cry.

* * *

"Why are you doing this to me?" asked Jaq, and he hated the weakness in his voice. "We played together as children, Aurelia. I thought you were my friend."

He had thought that he was stronger, but he wasn't, not really. The days had turned to weeks, and the weeks had quickly become a month. Soon enough, it would be two, and before he knew it, he'd have been here for three months. Would he last a year? Two? Three? _I am my sister's sword and shield,_ he reminded himself. So long as he was their prisoner, the Rêveres would not go after his sister.

 _The sister who hasn't even answered your letters._ He shook himself. No, Lucile was smart. She must know that he was only penning the words dictated by King Philip. _That's just what you want to believe._ He swallowed, his throat growing tight. She was in Aquitania, he'd learned. She was free. So why hadn't she written? What had stopped her? He'd heard whispers that she was in love with Prince Caspian, and that she was always in his company. Where he went, she followed. _Does she even remember me?_

No. He stopped himself. That had been unworthy of him. His sister would never abandon him. _Would she? You're her frail brother whose life is dependent on a glass sword._ Jaq didn't know where the thoughts were coming from. He must be going mad. They rarely let him leave their chambers. He shook his head. Where had that come from. These were Aurelia's chambers, and he was very much her prisoner. Nothing in this room was his, not even the clothes on his back.

 _I'm strong. I can endure this._ A voice whispered in his head. In response, another voice, much louder, asked. _Can you? You're only fifteen._

Jaq shook himself again. He was on his knees beside the dresser. Aurelia liked him on his knees. He didn't know why. She was taller than him without having to try, as were most people. The carpet was soft. _Small mercies._ He'd spent last week kneeling near the window, and the floor there was cold tile. He could still feel the ache in his bones. He should stand. He knew he should. _Don't break. You are not fragile._ But, it was best to keep her happy. When she was happy, she was sweet, and when she was sweet, she was kind. A happy Aurelia meant he might be allowed outside for a few hours. If he was good, they'd let him join them for dinner and listen to the bards, or else allow him to peruse their library. He'd always liked music and books.

Sir Mouse, they'd called him, because of his small stature, but he'd never been timid. He'd never begged or pleaded as he did here. In Eléadoré, they'd called him a house with irony, and he'd smiled at the jape. Here, he was a mouse in truth.

"Aurelia," he whispered, looking up at her as she powdered her cheeks with rouge. "Please. When I was four, we played with toy soldiers in my father's garden. You were my friend. Why are you hurting me now?"

"I don't mean too," said Aurelia, her voice impassive. She didn't even look at him. "I just love you so much, you know. I always loved you, Jaq."

There was no emotion in her words. Jaq had never been in love, but he'd had a crush once. The chef's daughter, Colette, had taught him to cook when he'd been a stripling boy and she'd been just a few years older. Colette had been sharp with her words and quick with her smiles, and he'd almost imagined himself being able to grow old with her. His sister wouldn't have minded, not really. He was a prince, but he would never have heirs or be more than a knight in Lucile's service, and she wouldn't have minded if he took up with a commoner.

It would have been sweet. Maybe. He'd never know. Colette had likely been executed along with the rest of the castle staff when Tremaine had staged her coup.

Yet, there'd always been feeling in their exchanges: shyness and giggles, and a kiss upon his cheek when he'd mastered a particularly difficult dish. He couldn't even remember what had won him his first kiss upon the cheek anymore. _Coq au vin? Duck confit? Cassoulet?_ No… It hadn't been any of those things.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't force me to sleep with you," he said. "You'd have asked and waited for me to accept."

"That's not how love works for us princes and princesses, Jaq," she said, her tone still bleak and emotionless. "Father says that I am to love you, and so I love you. He has requested I create an heir to ensure a claim to Eléadoré, and so I am doing my duty. He requested we marry, and so we wed, even though you looked absolutely miserable throughout the entire ceremony. I suppose it's fine. I smiled enough for the both of us."

"You married me with a knife to my throat and the promise that if I didn't say the right words, you'd send a letter to Damon De Vil offering payment for my sister's heart," he said. "How could you expect me to smile?"

"Because it is what is expected of us, Jaq," she replied, setting down her powder-puff and reaching for her coal-sticks. "I have tried to be good to you, haven't I? I pleasure you so that it is good for both of us when we lay together. I have the cooks prepare your favourite meals when father permits. I got you ink, a quill, and parchment so that you could write to your sister after we learned she had escaped that monster. What more do you want from me?"

He stared at her, his hands clenching into fists. Didn't she see? Was she blind? He wanted to shake her, but that would anger her, and he'd spend he next week alone in the room, save for the nights when she had to _do her duty_ , as she so eloquently put it. No, he was strong. He'd withstand it. What had that dish been? The one that had earned him his first cheek. He had to remember. He had to. He couldn't forget who he was, who he'd been before the world had gone to shit. _Soufflé? Flamiche? Nicoise Salad?_

Jaq had to remember. He was not Jaq Charmant, prince consort of Somnia, husband to Aurelia Rêvere, a prisoner to his father-in-law and nothing more than a bitch-in-heat to the lot of them. He was more than his claim. He was Jaq Charmant, prince of Eléadore, and he liked to listen to songs and read books and cook in his spare time. They called him Sir Mouse.

"What do I want?" he asked. "I want to go home, Aurelia. I miss my mother and my father and my sister. I want to see my bedroom again. I want to see my friends. I want to sleep in my own bed and wear my own clothes. _I want my home._ "

He'd thought he was strong. He wasn't. The tears fell hot and fast down his cheeks. He wanted home. Home was a warm bed beside the fire, and leisurely strolls through the palace gardens whilst his sister walked Bambi. Home was the inns which housed the singers, and the great library his mother had kept. It was his sister's laugh and his father's smile, and his mother's eyes as she'd watch them at play. It was Colette in the kitchens and Duke Luis with his monocle, and a royal carriage that had once been a pumpkin. Home was a wish his heart made, and he wanted it more than anything.

* * *

Christopher tolled at the oars, his shoulders feeling like lead. In the third level of the trading galley, there was little ventilation, and his skin was slick with sweat. _A sellsword, not a rower._ The Naga were still a danger to ships, and he hadn't thought twice about applying for the post. It was good pay and a good voyage, and he'd been hoping for the best.

 _I should have stayed in that room with Jessica._

The chains clinked when he moved his legs to ease the stiffness, and the rusted manacles chafed against his ankles. A few more days and he'd be bleeding, he knew, but at least his hands were free to row. It was still early, and he still had hours to go before they'd escort him to his cabin.

They didn't want him to die, after all. It was a long voyage with little wind, and they needed rowers. His throat burned. It had been a few hours since a ladle of water had been shoved in his face, and his mouth as dry as a bone. _What did I expect?_ Bitterness bloomed within his chest, and he almost wanted to last. _They all said I was useless. The Prince of Fools. They were right, I suppose. How many princes can say they willingly walked onto a pirate ship?_

They'd burst into his cabin at night, and he'd woken to four men holding him down while a fifth and put him in chains. His Dreamtouch had knocked out the first, but the second had backhanded him so hard that he'd tasted blood, and he'd quickly learned to play nice thereafter. He was miles away from land, and even if he managed to put the entire crew to sleep, he had no idea how to sail.

His stomach growled. That one was his own fault. They'd been feeding him well enough, he supposed: salted cod, pickled herring, hard bread, and clam soup. The problem, however, was that he was a vegetarian, and he hadn't eaten meat since his mother had forced it down his throat. He'd spent the night throwing up, and since boarding the ship, he'd been starving himself on bread soaked in wine. It kept the worst of the hunger away. A small voice in his head told him to give in, that this wasn't a normal situation and that he should eat what he could to keep up his strength, but he just couldn't.

He'd never had much autonomy, but save for the chicken incident, he'd always had control over his own diet. Giving it up, no matter the reason, felt like a loss, as though he was once more willing to let others dictate his life. _You're in chains, idiot. You're a slave._

At the very least, he wasn't alone.

"When is that princess of yours supposed to get here?" he hissed, nudging the Imperial prisoner beside him with his elbow. "My arms are ready to fall off."

"Three days ago," said Jian, his expression grim. "I sent the message when we were passing the straits, but they took my fans after. I have no idea where she is, Ch—Robin."

"She has a dragon and we have black sails. How hard could it be to find us?"

"I don't know," Jian snapped. "Godmother above, at least I did something. What did you do again? Get captured. Typical you."

"And yet you're wearing chains right beside me," retorted Christopher, not in the mood for games. "At least I can say that I was naive and got hoodwinked by these bastards. You were a bloody captain of the Imperial Army. How do you fall for this?"

"I was in a hurry to return to DunBroch after the seas kept me trapped in Corona for a month," Jian admitted, sounding rather irritated at having to say it out loud. "I'd been to visit my sister in the Summer Isles, but I've grown rather fond of the DunBroch air. I wasn't really paying that much attention."

"DunBroch air." Christopher snorted, rolling his eyes. "Is that what they call Sigrun these days? The DunBroch air?"

"I had sincerely forgotten how bloody annoying you were." Jian glared. "Of all the people in the world, the one who happens to find himself onto the same ship as me is you, Robin… Grim, was it? Where did that come from anyway."

"You put frogspawn in my soup and then said I was annoying because I got upset about it." Christopher gritted his teeth. "And don't talk about the Grim. Using her name was a mistake."

"Her name?" Jian cocked his head, surprise flickering in his eyes. "There is a _her_ where you are concerned? Just one more bloody sign that the world is fucking ending."

"Spare me," said Christopher, rolling his eyes so hard he was afraid he'd sprain them. "I've heard worse from better."

"Oh, the jester's found his spine. Maybe if you'd discovered it earlier, Renvale wouldn't be under enemy rule."

"And maybe if you could fight as well you run your mouth, the Imperium would still be standing. At least I have a home to go back to eventually."

Silence hung heavy in the air between them, and Christopher hung his head. That had been cruel. He didn't know what had come over him. _Am I growing cruel?_ Leaving Jessica after bedding her without so much as a goodbye had been cruel, of that he had been certain. As for what he'd just said… He should know more than most what it was like to lose everything and have to pick up the pieces as best he could.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. Li Jian was a mouthy fucker, and there was no denying that there were a dozen other people Christopher would rather be in this situation with, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been unfathomably rude. "I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did," said Jian, hanging his head. "You're sorry. I can tell, but you meant what you said all the same. I shouldn't have said those things about Renvale."

Christopher nodded. He didn't want to agree, but… Jian was right. The words about his home had stung, and he'd _wanted_ to hurt the other man in return. _Am I growing cruel?_ Maybe. But the world they lived in was a cruel one, he thought, feeling the clink of the chains around his ankles, the grime upon his skin, and the sight of Margaret, her hair streaming behind her as she'd crumpled in his arms.

"Way I see it," said Christopher. "We're knee deep in this shit together. Might as well make the best of it."

"Not the worst idea in the world," said Jian. "That fucker with the whip. You got any ideas?"

Just as he said the words, the whip in question cracked through the air, and Christopher hissed as it struck him across the back. Another crack, and Jian buckled forward beside him, face screwed up in pain.

"Less talking, more rowing," said Flint, the quartermaster of _The Black Pearl_. "Shut your gobs and row, or I'll knock out a few of those pretty white teeth."

Christopher gritted his teeth and rowed, his arms aching as the sweat dripped down his brow. _That fucker? I have something in mind, all right. A dream that never ends._

* * *

It was an hour past midnight when Cornelius saddled his horse, and the castle of Solaris was quieter than the grave. Pulling his hood low over his eyes, he boosted himself up using the stirrups, and he ran his finger along Sunshine's mane. He was a good, loyal steed, which was a lot more than he deserved. He'd left a note, but…

 _This is for the best._

He had failed in every way he could: as a son, as a friend, as a husband, as a king, as a soldier, as a sailor, and now, as a father as well. Alyssa's words echoed in his head. If he'd pushed her and she'd landed wrong, she could have miscarried. He hadn't meant to, but he'd done it anyway. He hadn't meant for a lot of things, but they'd happened all the same. The child… he clenched his fist.

His child would one day be grateful to have been spared having him for a father. Alyssa… she'd be upset, but she was strong, a better queen than he'd ever be a king. He'd wed her and given her an heir. That was all she needed to hold the throne of Corona as regent of the infant prince or princess she carried.

She didn't need him. Nobody needed him. All he did was turn good things into horrors, and he was done. _Mother, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._ If not for him, she'd still be whole.

Cornelius tightened his grasp on the reins as Sunshine began to trot down the path. Honestly, he wasn't even sure where it was he was going. Corona wouldn't work, obviously, and Amoré was a place of thorns and monsters. If he went to Arendelle… Nick, at least, didn't see him as the failure he was. He'd never be able to bear it if his cousin saw what a wretched person he'd become. He didn't have many options, then. _Eléadore it is._

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he ran a hand through his hair. It was oddly light without the crown. He'd at least had the decency to leave that behind. It was not his. It would never be his. He didn't deserve it and he never had. Maybe he'd grow out a beard to hide the scars along his jaw, and he'd let his fringe grow out to mask the scar across his eye. They were distinguishable, and he didn't want to be found.

 _I'm sorry, Father. I'm so, so sorry._ He kept his head high as he rode, picking up speed as he left Solaris in the distance. _I should have died with Corona. I should have died in that throne room with Nick's ice in my chest._ It was true. How many had perished because of him? How many children would never know their fathers because of him? How many wives would never again feel their husbands' arms around them? How many mothers mourned their sons?

Too many. Corona bled for as far as the eye could see, and he knew whose hand had held the knife that cut open those wounds. _I'm sorry, Alyssa. I'm so, so sorry._ She deserved to love a better man. The thought broke his heart. _I hope you find him someday, and I hope he treats you better than I did._ He loved her like the sun loved the moon, and he'd die every night just to see her rise, but, he couldn't even look at her without seeing his failures in her eyes.

His wife may have brought the curse down upon Corona, but she'd done it because her father had disowned her for marrying him, and he'd been the one to propose, not her. It all lay at his feet. Amoré. Corona. Even Arendelle. He had never said. How could he? Yet, when they'd showed him that broken mirror, he'd known. He'd never had the courage to outright ask his mother, but he'd known all the same.

If some seer rode up to him right now and told him that Agrabah, Renvale, and Eléadoré had been his fault as well, created by some butterfly effect he'd triggered, he'd believe them without a doubt. All roads led back to him, and he was tired of being the king with everything when so many had nothing because of what he'd done. _How did they bear it? How did they keep going?_

They were stronger than him. They were better than him. And, despite all of that, he'd been the one dragged back from the dead, not once but twice, and for the life of him, he couldn't think of a single thing he'd ever done to deserve it.

The road went on and on, and Cornelius stifled a yawn. He was determined to put as much distance between Solaris and himself as he could, and he'd said in his note that he was going to Arendelle. Alyssa would work out the truth quickly enough, but by then, he'd be long gone. This wasn't a romantic adventure in which he wanted her to find him at the end so they could work things out.

No, this was a farewell without a goodbye, because he'd been too chickenshit to actually say it to her face.

 _Even when failing, I fail at being a failure._

As he rode, he glanced at his finger. The ring she'd given him glinted upon his finger, and he sighed. What would be his legacy? Once, they'd called him the Prince of the Dawn, but then he'd become the King Who Failed. He didn't even have the sun anymore. All he had was the bow and quiver upon his back, the saddlebags filled with supplies, and the clothes upon him back. _And her ring…_

Even Faceless, he'd been unable to part with the ring. It was all but attached to his skin. It was a symbol of their love, of the vows they'd sworn on the day they wed. _The vows I'm breaking now._ He slipped the ring from his finger, and he made to drop it into the dirt as he rode. Tsar Luna forgive him, but he couldn't.

Instead, he slipped it into his pocket, and he rode without looking back.

* * *

Their bedroom was a frozen ruin. Hoarfrost clung to the carpet, as did the frozen fragments of the grand piano. Ice crept up the walls in jagged spirals, and heavy snowflakes floated in the air. The windows were cracked and frosted, the desk had been split in half, and the couches were without stuffing. The coffee table had been shoved out the glass doors which led to the balcony, shattering them, and their bed.

Morgan felt a pang. The pillows were ripped and the springs bounced free of the mattress. The entire frame tilted to the side, and he saw that the bottom-left leg had been snapped off.

Nick knelt in the centre of the room, his icy swirling around him, and he didn't seem to even notice Morgan as he approached. Tentatively, Morgan held up his hands, letting his tail slide out of his back as he knelt beside his consort. Like clockwork, his tail wrapped around Nick's waist, and his boyfriend seemed to come out of his stupor just long enough to wrap his arms around the tip. It was like watching a child, Morgan realized, a child who'd been shell shocked into numbness.

"It hurts, Morgan," said Nick, his voice a cracked whisper. "It hurts so bad."

"I know, Frosty," he replied, reaching out to pull his boyfriend into his lap. Nick was clumsy as he moved, curling himself into a ball as once he was wrapped within his embrace; his knees pressed against his chin with his arms linked around them. His legs held Morgan's tail in place, flush between his thighs and chest, but he barely moved.

This scared him more than anything. When Nick was upset, there was always a storm followed by the calm. There was a loss of control and a spurt of vengeance, and then his Frosty would return to him, sobbing until the broken pieces of his heart began to stitch themselves together.

This time, there'd been none of that. This time, when he held Nick, all he could feel was emptiness within his lover.

"Why would he do that?" asked Nick, shivering. "Why would he kill my mum and my dad, Morgan?"

"I don't know, Frosty," said Morgan, holding him tighter. _It's war,_ he wanted to say. _Your parents were two of the most powerful people we had on our side. They had targets on their back from the start._ Yet, he kept silent. This was not about the truth or being honest with each other. This was more important.

"I want them back, Morgan."

 _I know, Frosty._

"I just want to go to sleep and wake up to find it's all a bad dream. I want to wake in the morning and build a snowman with Mum, and I want to see Olaf again. I want Sven in the stables and I want to know my Dad is there, watching over me."

 _I know._

"Please, don't let me go," whispered Nick. "Please, Morgan. Never let me go. I'm tired. I don't want to leave this room ever again. I want to forget. Please."

"Always and forever," said Morgan, pressing his lips to his boyfriend's brow. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, Frosty."

"I'm so tired."

"Then rest, Frosty," said Morgan. "I'll be here when you wake."

Nick nodded as he curled against Morgan's chest, his tears seeping into his shirt, but Morgan didn't even care. Deftly, he lifted Nick into him arms as he rose to his feet, and his boyfriend was light as a feather as he walked from the ruined bedroom. There was a single bed in the corner of Nick's study. They'd spend the night there and he'd have the servants clean the bedroom come morning. As he walked through the royal quarters, he was painfully aware of the rise and fall of Nick's chest. _Don't wake him. Let him sleep._

When he reached the study, he unwound his tail from around Nick and opened the door with it. Closing it, he made his way across the room as quickly as he could and settled his boyfriend down upon the bed. Nick stirred but didn't wake, mercifully. Gently, Morgan slid off his boots and undid his cloak before turning his attention to himself and getting comfortable. It was going to be a long night. Nick's powers were temperamental at the best of times, but the cold beneath their blankets was going to be bitter tonight.

It would be bitter and biting for a very long time.

"Morgan," whispered Nick, his voice thick with sleep, curling up against his tail as he pulled the blankets up to their chin. "Dad's last words. Do you think he was delirious? Or?"

Morgan could hear the faint spark of hope in his boyfriend's voice. In all honesty, though, Morgan didn't know. There was nobody alive who knew what it was like to die, and the other side had always been one of the world's few true mysteries. Did it exist? What happened there? Would you be alone, or could you share it with someone?

"I think that in some mysterious place where the living can't enter, Jack Frost and Elsa Arnadalr are together again," he said, pulling Nick closer to him. "No, I don't think. I know."

There was no answer, and Morgan sighed as he realized that Nick had fallen asleep again. Morgan leaned over to kiss his cheek before closing his own eyes and sinking down upon the shared pillow. Nick was cold to the touch, almost uncomfortably so, and the sorrow had buried itself so deep inside him that Morgan didn't think it would ever end. Not now. Not so soon after Queen Elsa.

He sighed. Someone, Morgan knew that there'd be no more babbling.

* * *

 **.o0o.**

 **Author's Note:** **And that's a wrap to Book 2. I hope you've all enjoyed it. We'll rejoin the gang in Book 3, which will launch soon. I like having a buffer of chapters so I don't take long gaps between updates, and I'm still working on Book 3 so would like to finish writing a few more chapters before publishing.**

 **Much love for the reviews, favs, follows, and PMs.**

 **-Shane.**


	53. God Was Never On Your Side

**.**

* * *

 **Book 3**

 **Chapter 46**

 **God Was Never On Your Side**

* * *

The Manor on the Moon was cold, and as Nibs made his way through the passageway, he spied cobwebs on the ceiling and dust upon the floor. His ears twitched at the uneasy atmosphere, but he swallowed down his apprehension all the same. It had been nearly a thousand years since he'd last visited this place, and for all he knew, decrepit and rundown could very well be the theme Tsar Luna had been going for when he'd decorated the place.

It was a dangerous gambit to leave Neverland unguarded in these troubled times, but the invitation had been one he dared not refuse. Even Peter had tread cautiously when dealing with Tsar Luna, the miserable old goat that he was. _Peter._ Nibs swallowed, shaking his head. _No._ He needed to hold it together, for the other Lost Boys' sakes if not for his own. There would be time to mourn when this was over.

 _He's with Tink again,_ Nibs assured himself, not for the first time since he'd felt his adoptive father's life flicker out. _He's with Tink again. His eternity of misery is done._ Some days, it was all he could not to cry.

"Nibs, you came," said a soft voice behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. Grasping a hand to his chest, his ears twitched as he turned. This… very few people in the world could sneak up on him with his _hearing_ , but the woman standing in the doorway was definitely one of them.

"Alice," he said, shaking his head. "Don't startle me like that again."

"Old habits," she replied with a shrug. "There was no sneaking up on Pan."

"There wasn't." Nibs' throat went dry, and he shook his head again. "I'm not Pan, so just don't do that again. And as for me being here, do you really think I could have refused?"

"The Lord of Neverland does he pleases," said Alice. "Pan left you his mantle, and all that comes with it."

"Truth be told, Alice, I would rather have Peter back." Nibs shook his head. "What does Manny even want from us? He _had_ Pitch, and he let that wretched devil go. You've heard Margaret. She was there when he released his wrath."

"I don't know why he's called us," said Alice with a weary sigh. "I just know that trying to assign blame right now is the last thing we need. A house divided cannot stand against the storm."

"Someone should have told him that before he sent the others to their deaths," said Nibs, not wanting to entertain the nonsense. Alice was… she was a very lovely person, but she didn't know the secret histories. Peter's secrets had all but died with him, but of what little he had shared, he'd shared with first Tink and then Nibs. Everyone needed a confidante, and between Tink and himself, they'd been both the one true love of Peter's eternal life and the closest thing he'd ever had to a son.

Without bothering to hear more, Nibs marched ahead and pushed open the doors to the meeting room. Like the rest of the manor, it was in a sorry state of dust and cobwebs, and the hearth was cold and devoid of flames. Tsar Luna sat at the head of the table, his expression stern, his monocle devoid of its usual glint, and the girl—Margaret Charming, who Nibs didn't quite care for given her youth and inexperience—was seated in the chair that had once belonged to Toothiana.

"Manny. Mother Goose." Nibs managed a stiff nod before taking a seat upon the chair that had once belonged to Peter Pan. A chill ran through his spine, and he masked his unease with a mask of indifference as he turned towards Tsar Luna. "I love what you've done with the place, Manny. It's as grim and dour at the skeletons in your closet."

A sharp giggle permeated the air, and Nibs turned to see Margaret hiding her mouth behind her palm. Almost as quickly as she caught his eye, however, the mirth fled her face, and an expression of haughty indifference settled in its place. Nibs rolled his eyes before turning back to Manny, his ears twitching at the creak of Alice taking her own seat. The glare directed at him by the Man in the Moon was enough to curdle the blood of most mortals, but Nibs simply found himself to be mildly amused.

"Why have you called us here, Tsar Luna?" asked Alice, her tone somewhat clipped. "It is best we get on with it as quickly as possible. I don't dare leave Pixie Hollow for long with so many Nightmare Men and Fearlings filling the world."

"She's right," said Nibs. "It isn't wise for me to be away from Neverland either, even with Pitch in that ice cell of Jack's."

"I have no place to guard," added Margaret, and there was a tremor in her voice as she spoke. "But, I would much rather be searching for my brother than sitting here."

"He still missing, huh?" Nibs raised an eyebrow. "Surely Alice could—"

"I've already tried," muttered Alice. "The most I can discern is that he's still alive, but that's all."

"Curious," said Nibs, reaching out to scratch his chin. His ears twitched as a thought occurred to him, but he dismissed it as quickly as it came. It would never do to open his mouth in front of Tsar Luna of all people.

"If you three are done." Tsar Luna's voice was grim. "I have instructions to give regarding our war with Pitch."

"Which would be my cue to start ignoring you." Nibs rolled his eyes. "Your instructions are what landed us all in this mess in the first place."

"You will _listen,_ for you are the Lord of Never—"

"I am." Nibs' lips curled into an almost snide grin. " _However,_ I am a Lost Boy, not a Guardian. My loyalty is to Peter Pan and Neverland, not to your _game."_

With that, he climbed out of his chair. Ignoring the surprised look on Alice's face and the curious flicker in Margaret's eyes, he made for the door without even bothering to acknowledge the ire in Tsar Luna's eyes. Once, long ago, the old man would have been able to keep a better check on his emotions and not let his rage show like this… but that had been when he'd been winning the war.

The door slammed shut as he approached it, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Really, Manny?" he asked. "Do you really want to push me right now?"

"The fight with Pitch is our greatest priority," said Tsar Luna. "Your personal… scruples with me can be addressed once the war is won."

"Oh, I intend to continue the fight against Pitch," retorted Nibs, glancing over his shoulder. His ears twitched. "I just don't intend to play this game by your rules. I'm not the son you condemned to die, you old goat, so don't expect me to do your dirty work the same way Peter did."

The silence in the room was deafening, and Nibs thrust out a hand. Threads of gold burst from his fingertips to slink into the enchanted lock upon the door, and he rolled his neck as they wormed their way between the tumblers. With a sharp click, the enchantment snapped and the door swung open, and he stormed from the room without giving Tsar Luna another look.

* * *

"Explain."

In the eternity that she'd been alive, Alice had seen and heard a great many things. She had watched the rise and fall of empires, witnessed rivers carve canyons into the bones of the world, and gazed upon the continents themselves as they'd drifted like islands across the ocean. Yet, in all her thousands of years, she had never once heard such _cold fury_ in her own voice.

"What is there to explain?" asked Tsar Luna from his seat beside the darkened fireplace. "Nibs made it perfectly clear, did he not?"

"No." She shook her head, grateful that she'd reined in her ire until Margaret had left the manor. The young Guardian did not need to see this argument, not when she was already so worried about her missing brother and unhinged by her three years of solitary imprisonment. "I am not in the mood for your riddles, old friend. I will hear the truth today, or so help me, you will yourself another Fairy Godmother."

"Alice?" If she did not know any better, she'd have said that he sounded almost perturbed by her threat.

"I mean it," she continued. "There are stars in the sky younger than I am, and I served you for my entire life. And yet, after all this time, I learn that everything you've ever told me was a lie. _You told me_ that Peter was an Olorian boy whose father beat him to a pulp because he kept screaming that there were wolves amongst the sheep. He wasn't, was he? I wondered… I wondered when I learned he was Rumpelstiltskin, but I assumed he was simply raised with a dual nature. How little I knew. How deep does the lie go, Tsar Luna? How deep?"

Tsar Luna turned his head towards there, and the monocle slipped from his eye to dangle across his chest from a fine chain. In that moment, he looked his true age—not a stern man in his sixties, but a ghastly corpse of withered flesh and more wrinkles on his face than the most gnarled trees had upon their bark, with a single tuft of brittle white hair on his head. He sighed, dust spilling from his papery lips, and he shook his head at her before rising to his feet.

"The lies do pile up, don't they?" he said. Something glimmered in his eyes, and Alice took a wary step back. "Very well, Alice. You want the truth? May you drown in it."

With his ominous words hanging in the air, he tapped his cane upon the floor. The room spiralled around them as an inky-blackness seeped into the world until it looked as though they were standing in oblivion. In the darkness, Tsar Luna leered, and with a deafening crack so loud that it made thunder resemble a mewling kitten, a hundred-thousand bands of light burst across the darkness. Worlds spun into existence, and the first stars began to blink into existence. Nebulae and galaxies whirled through the darkness, bringing light to the furthest recesses of space and time, and Alice became aware that the two of them were hurtling through the cosmos.

With a jolt, she came to a halt, and when she looked up, her throat went dry. A brilliant, blazing glare expanded before her, and several figures emerged from the light. The first was a silver-haired man, young and stern faced, and he walked with a cane. _Tsar Luna._ A woman walked beside him, as radiant as the sun in the sky with hair of beaten gold, and her bow was slung across her back. _Tsarina Stella._

Beside them walked a teenager on the cusp of adulthood, clad in armor as black as ink, and his hair was white as snow. His staff was familiar, a shepherd's crook of blackened aurum gold crowned with a starlit diamond on the other end. For a moment, it was as though she was looking at a ghost.

"Jack," she whispered.

"In this life, he was Nightlight, the first of the Guardians, a creature born of pure light. The Guardian of the Sun and the Moon." Tsar Luna's voice was grim. "Keep watching."

As the light dimmed, two more figures emerged from the gloom, and Alice's gritted her teeth at the sight of Pitch Black. Yet, he was not the Pitch she knew. He wore armor of gold, and he smiled with delight as he walked arm-in-arm with a woman whose smile echoed nothing but joy.

"Joy and Kozmotis Pitchiner," said Tsar Luna. "Here we were born, the five eternals. You wanted the truth, did you not, Alice? Pitch was not born the Boogeyman. He was made."

He tapped his cane before him, and the cosmos whirled in a blur of colors and light. A child was born to each couple, a daughter who would become Mother Nature, and a son who would become Rumpelstiltskin. Alice watched as Pitch—no, Kozmotis—led the Golden Armies against the Fearlings that had spilled into existence along with the first light of dawn, and she watched as they were driven back and imprisoned. And, she watched as he was left alone in the darkness for thousands of years until he finally, in his despair, was tricked into being possessed by the Primordial Fearlings.

Alice gritted her teeth as Kozmotis buckled, falling to his knees, and when he rose, his smile was gone. In its place was a leer, and a chill ran down her spine. This… this was the day that the Boogeyman was born.

The war that followed was nothing short of catastrophic. Planets were hurled like stones, and stars shed their fires by the thousands. Black holes were torn into the very fabric of the cosmos. The Golden Army clashed with the Fearlings in a thousand battles, and Alice had no doubts in her mind as to what she was witnessing: The First War with Pitch which had culminated in Nightlight's sacrifice.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Nightlight burst into view, his youthful face contorted with fury. His staff hummed as he directed it not at Pitch, but at the space behind him, and before her eyes, she watched as he tore open a rift in space and time. With a great howl, it began sucking them both in, and Pitch's scream was bloodcurdling as he fought to escape.

She knew this story, yet, before her very eyes, details that she didn't know appeared. Tsarina Stella was there, cupping in her hands the rays of dawn as though they were a flower, and the light spilled forth to solidify the rift. Tsar Luna was at her side, his eyes and hair black as ink, grasping a pulsing moonstone. Emily Jane, Pitch's daughter who would one day be known as Mother Nature, swirled into view, wreathed in brilliant green light, her heart gleaming through her chest. Rumpelstiltskin stood beside his parents, a dagger in one hand and a glimmering red stone in the other.

The rift shifted and throbbed beneath the Eternals' power as Nightlight drove Pitch into his prison, and a figure emerged from the darkness, a face so familiar that Alice would have wept if she had any tears left to cry. Father Time held a single red rose in his hand, the petals spilling across eternity.

Nightlight gritted his teeth, and the rift snapped shut around him. Pitch's shriek was silenced in a heartbeat as the both of them vanished into the prison dimension, and the Eternals glanced at each other. Almost grimly, they nodded once before scattering: Father Time to Wonderland, Emily Jane to Earth, Rumpelstiltskin to Neverland, and Tsarina Stella and Tsar Luna to the Manor in the Moon.

"We sealed his prison with our powers, the Keystones of Creation," said Tsar Luna, "and the Diamond Lance of Nightlight was the key to the prison itself. We miscalculated. Nightlight, like us, was an eternal, and so long as he lived inside that prison, Pitch would have a way out."

"The Second War," breathed Alice. "That led to the true deaths of Nightlight and Tsarina Stella."

"Aye," said Tsar Luna, shaking his head. "But Rumpelstiltskin died as well. I was not able to raise my beloved, for Pitch scattered her ashes so far that not even I could find them, but I raised Nightlight and Rumpelstiltskin… Jack Frost and Peter Pan. Jack needed millennia to recover from his ordeal."

Alice was beginning to have a very bad feeling about this entire mess. _We miscalculated. The Diamond Lance was the key._ She bit her lip, not liking the picture her mind was painting. Father Time had perished with Wonderland, but his Chronorose and Chronosphere were in her possession. _Technically,_ she thought, _since I did give the Chronorose to the Amoréan royal family._

Had she known that it was a Keystone of Creation, she'd have buried it in her deepest vault… Tsar Luna's need to keep secrets had backfired once again, for the rose was lost in a place where time stood still. _Idiotic man._

Yet, there was a darker thought nagging at her mind and prickling at her gut, one that filled her with the urge to vomit.

"You _monster,"_ she breathed. "You _vile monster._ That's why you allowed Jack to marry a mortal. That's why you made no arguments when Jack decided to give his lance to his son even though it was Aurum gold. You _monster._ "

"Only Nightlight can wield the lance, but his immortality is what allowed Pitch to escape. Better… a mortal wielder, one who will die within that prison and seal Pitch away forevermore." Tsar Luna's voice was impassive. "They Keystones of Creation are all in play, and Pitch cannot be killed lest the Fearlings within him are to be released. So he must be imprisoned for all time, and it must be by the boy."

"Say his name," Alice hissed. "At least have the decency to say his name, you bastard. Jack was my friend. Jack did _everything_ for this world, for us, for his family, and you… you… look at his son, his only son, a boy he loved more than his own life, a boy we all considered a nephew, a part of our family, and you see a hog to be pushed into the slaughterhouse. _Say his name._ "

"The boy—"

A harsh crack echoed through the cosmos as she slapped him, and the illusion he'd shown her vanished into a wisp of smoke. They were standing in his room, and the dust seemed to have gathered during their travels into the past. Tsar Luna looked stunned—it was clear that nobody, least of all one of his own subordinates, had ever struck him before.

Before he could react, Alice drew her wand. Glancing at it, she hurled it to his feet with so much force that it snapped like a twig. Turning on her heel, she stormed towards the door. Nibs had been right. Pitch Black had to be stopped, but she would be damned if she played this game by Tsar Luna's rules for a single second more.

* * *

Margaret didn't know what to make of Neverland.

It was a strange island floating in a sea of rippling stars, with beaches of white sand and smooth rocks. In her youth, she'd heard stories of this place—a land where dreams were born and time was never planned, but no tales had ever spoken of the dense jungle or the myriad of strange birds and beasts.

However, if the island was strange to her, then the current Lord of Neverland was downright absurd. Nibs was an uncouth youth of about seventeen, sandy-haired and dressed as if he planned on attending a tea party in Wonderland. His waistcoat was cloth-of-gold with diamond buttons, something she considered to be the height of crass tackiness—honestly, if he ditched it, he'd almost look presentable in his green shirt and black slacks.

The ears on the other hand… there was simply no dealing with those ridiculous things. In her youth, her mother had told her that the Lost Boys wore onesies, but that could not be further from the truth. Nibs had the ears of a rabbit: furry and grey and sticking up from either side of his head, and it was incredibly difficult to take him seriously when they started twitching.

Taking a seat upon the rickety chair he'd presented her with, she idly turned her attention to Alice, noting that the Godmother looked rather put out. Truth be told, Margaret was also rather annoyed to have been dragged into this little triumvirate. There were more important things for her to do, the search for Christopher chief amongst them. Her brother could be languishing in a foul pit for all she knew, and it was imperative that she rescue him as soon as possible.

"So, are we to sit in uncomfortable silence for the rest of the day, or will someone tell me why we are meeting again when we just gathered at the Manor in the Moon not two days past?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking from Nibs and to Alice and back again.

"We have much to discuss," said Alice, shaking her head. "So much, in fact, that I find myself at a loss as to where I should begin."

"Aaah." Nibs sounded far too satisfied at that pronouncement. "So the wool's finally been blasted out of your eyes, Alice. Good. Saves me having to beat you over the head until you listened."

"Indeed, but it does beg the question as to why Pan never spoke up," said Alice. "Or why you've chosen to bite your tongue for all these years."

"Simply because Peter had a plan of his own in the works, one that required absolute secrecy to be successful." Nibs inclined his head, a glimmer of irritation flickering across his eyes. "It's rude to stare, Margaret."

"I was not staring." Margaret's cheeks grew heated as she turned away. "I was listening, and my eyes happened to be looking in your direction since you're sitting right in front of me."

"Is it the ears?" He cocked his head to the side, the ears in question twitching. "Unless it's escaped your notice, you have the wings of a goose growing out of your back."

"The wings of a _goose?"_ Margaret had never been so affronted in all her life. Beating her wings once, she shook her head in his direction. Her cheeks grew pink, and she was possessed with the sudden urge to draw forth the Omnicron and read him a lovely story about a rabbit who once ran afoul of a few wolves. "These are _angel wings."_

"Funny." Nibs snorted. "I never knew an angel with grey wings, nor have I ever seen feathers so soft outside a mattress."

"You…. you…"

"Behave, the both of you." Alice's voice was sharp as a blade, cutting through the bickering like a hot knife through butter. "We have more pressing issues to deal with."

Margaret pursed her lips before giving them both a stiff nod. The Godmother was right. There were more important things in the world than Nibs and his uncouth behaviour. Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned back in the rickety chair. When neither said a word, she bit down on her irritation and gestured for them to continue with their nattering. Did they not realize that every moment she wasted here could be a longer imprisonment for Christopher in whatever odious pit he'd fallen into?

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted—really, Margaret, I'd have expected a princess to be more polite—Peter did have a plan in the works. He's been pulling strings for a while, you know."

Margaret bristled at the insult. Yet, Alice was right. There were more important things to worry about, such as her brother and his friends. If what the Godmother had shared with her was true, then King Nicholas was in terrible danger, as were the others. It was something she could not allow. Nicholas, Cornelius, Alyssa, Ali, Jessica… they'd taken her brother in as if he was one of them at a time when he had nothing but the clothes on his back, and that had forever warmed her to the lot of them.

"So, we have the Nightlight, which is what the mortals have started calling the Diamond Lance of Nightlight for some reason," continued Nibs, "And that can only be wielded by Jack or his son."

"I am aware," said Alice with a shake of her head. "It'll rip to shreds anyone else who dares lay a finger upon it."

"Being ripped to shreds is a kindness compared to what will actually happen if someone other than Nick tries to wield it," said Nibs. "But, we're getting ahead of ourselves. They point is that the staff is in safe hands for the moment, but the Keystones are a bit scattered."

"Scattered?" Margaret snorted, thinking of what she'd been able to learn of the keystones from Tsar Luna's library. "One's trapped in time, two are in Moony's hands, one's been lost for decades, and the last was taken by Pitch."

"You make the situation sound so dramatic." To her sheer gall, Nibs grinned. "The Chronorose is in Amoré, but I'm sure Alice will be able to work out a way to retrieve it… Maybe use one of Father Time's old trinkets from Wonderland that we all know you have stashed away."

"Perhaps," said Alice thoughtfully. "And I would imagine that the Dawn Flower has already fallen to earth once more now that there's another generation of Solistarens running around."

"Fitzherberts," corrected Margaret. "And it's even more likely that it's already bonded itself to one of Cornelius and Alyssa's twins."

"We can work out a way to get it out of them." Nibs waved a dismissive hand in her direction. "The Philosopher's Stone was Peter's own keystone, so he kept tabs on it. I believe it's buried somewhere in Old Oloria, and as for the Heart of Mother Nature..." His voice cracked before trailing off, memories flitting across his eyes, and Margaret watched as he dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a glimmering green gemstone. "Peter recovered it before he died, though I do believe we have Ali Ababwa and the Starshells siblings to thank for getting it back."

"Emily's heart." Alice sighed. "I suppose there is no reviving her?"

"That's something beyond any of us, Alice," replied Nibs with a weary shake of his head. "She's helped us before, but she's never been one to follow orders without complaint. It would seem—"

"That Tsar Luna is not willing to raise someone he cannot control," concluded Margaret. The pair turned to her in surprise, and it was almost as if they'd forgotten she existed while lost in thought. "Now, I have three questions. One, all of this brings us no closer to the Moonstone, which Tsar Luna keeps, so how in the world are we going to retrieve it? Two, even if we find all of these Keystones before Pitch escapes his ice prison, we're still stuck at square one because it'll still be Nicholas having to open the rift. Three, and perhaps this is the most important question, but how are the three of us already not three piles of dust for this… rebellion."

"We'll cross the Moonstone bridge when we come to it, and as for our _rebellion,_ as you put it, it's because this is one of the few places in all of creation where Manny has _no_ power. Neverland has been Peter's domain since the dawn of time, and now it's mine. We're safe enough here. The danger comes when we leave." Nibs shook his head.

"Well, that is all well and good, but Margaret does raise a very important point," said Alice. "Jack's son will still have to die in the end."

"That was were Peter's plan comes in," said Nibs softly. "To add something to the spell so that someone else could wield the staff, if only for a few moments. He planned on sealing the rift himself, using a very powerful magical artefact to temporarily keep him from combusting as soon as he laid hands upon the staff.."

"What artefact?" Margaret was already beginning to lose patience with the riddles.

"The Five-Leafed Clover," said Nibs. "From Oz. Protects the holder from fatal harm if their life is ever threatened, and Peter believed if it was thrown in with the Keystones, then it would be enough to let someone else use the Nightlight long enough to open the rift, seal Pitch away, and then _they'd_ die from holding the staff. Problem solved."

"Oh, indeed," said Alice. "Nobody has been to Oz in generations. The Rainbow Bridge was destroyed."

"Christopher's girlfriend," murmured Margaret. She looked up, her eyes gleaming. "Oz? That girl, Jessica Grim, the one who was with my brother when I died? He told me that she was from Oz, that she hadn't told him yet, so I had to keep it quiet, but that she was an Ozian."

"Jessica _West_ ," corrected Nibs. "Peter's been pulling strings for a long time, my friends. Unfortunately, she's disappeared off the face of the earth. Now, I'd imagine she's either with Christopher Charming wherever he's holed up, or that he's the one person who could probably track her down since they were rather close. I suppose it's a good thing that I have a suspicion as to where he is, though if I'm right, well... "

He sighed, and Margaret did not like the look on his face at all. His ears twitched, which did not bode well for whatever he was about to say. A cool breeze blew across the beach, and Margaret shivered.

"It's settled then," said Alice, cutting Nibs off before he could say what he was planning to say. "I will begin searching for some way to retrieve the Chronorose. In the meantime, Nibs, Margaret and yourself will find Christopher so that we can get this Five-Leafed Clover."

The Fairy Godmother sucked in a breath as she rose from her seat, and Margaret was surprised to see a sword at her waist in place of her wand. _The Vorpal Sword._ She bit her lip, wanting to ask, but something inside her warned that this was not the time.

"I do not think I need to warn the two of you to be careful," said Alice, a look of grim determination etched upon her features. "Tsar Luna is no longer on our side, and if he thinks we're acting against his interests and plans…"

"Tsar Luna was never on our side." Nibs laughed, the sound dry and bitter and devoid of any humor. "Be safe as well, Alice. It may even be for the best if you and your fairies come to Neverland… you can never be too safe."

The Godmother nodded before disappearing in a puff of sparkling smoke, and Margaret turned to Nibs. Her expression set, she jabbed a finger in his direction, smirking at the mild flicker of panic in his eyes as he seemed to realize that Alice was no longer here to serve as a buffer between them.

"Right then, you uncouth rabbit man," she said. "Tell me _everything_ about how we're going to find my brother."


	54. The Thorns Remain

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter 47**

 **The Thorns Remain**

* * *

"Any luck?"

Christopher sighed as he cracked open his eyes, masking his annoyance beneath an easy smile. Sitting cross-legged on the beach with the salt breeze in his hair, this strange land beyond the seas of his homeland could almost be considered a haven… if one looked past the strange natives, the wild beasts, and the black flags upon the horizon. Turning towards Jian, he shook his head.

"I'd probably be making better progress if, you know, someone wasn't interrupting me every ten minutes."

"Excuse me, but you've been trying this every day for the past week." Jian sounded indignant. "Shouldn't you be getting better with practice?"

"At least I'm doing something." Christopher rolled his eyes. "You're about as useful as a wickless candle."

"You wouldn't be running your mouth so much if I had my fans."

"I likely would," he replied. "If only to remind you of what a sorry excuse for a mage you are given you need _magic fans_ to summon any animal spirits."

"I'm not a mage," Jian scoffed. "I'm a _diviner._ We draw our power from the ancestral spirits of the Imperium, which means we need something to draw with. What's your excuse? Can't get it up?"

"As I've said before," said Christopher, feeling his irritation begin to grow. "I was still _learning_ how to use my magic when I got caught up in this mess, and I've never actually tried dream projection before, let alone from an ocean away."

"That's very reassuring, Charming," drawled Jian. "I think we need another plan."

"Your plans are always so wonderfully thought out," he retorted. "Should we light another signal fire? Maybe scream really loudly and hope someone hears us?"

"At least the fire accomplishes something," snapped Jian. "All you've done for the past fortnight after we swam ashore is meditate on this bloody beach. You realize I could have used some help building a camp, or that it might be nice to not have to go foraging and hunting for two people everyday, or that—"

"Well, excuse me for doing all the actual heavy lifting and expecting you to simply make sure we don't starve or die from exposure," yelled Christopher. "I put the pirates to sleep so we could make a break for it, and I wove the Dream Ward around this beach to make sure we aren't captured by those natives in our sleep, and I've been trying my hardest to send a message to Ali, but nooooooooooo—"

"Strange," said a cool, impassive voice from behind them. "I sensed no wards in my approach."

Christopher all but jumped out of his skin as he whirled around. Scrabbling for the rather large stick he'd sharpened and taken to using as a spear, he called a dream to the palm of his free hand. Acutely aware of Jian dropping into a defensive crouch beside him with his hand curled around a clam-shaped seashell, Christopher took a step back. It was as sharp as a razor, he knew, and there'd been many a night when he'd gone to sleep watching the Imperial boy honing the edge of that shell against a stone.

Poor weapons, but they'd have to make do, because the woman standing in front of them held a very dangerous looking staff in her hands. Nearly seven feet in length, the staff had a haft of intricately carved and polished wood, and it was crowned in a pair of antlers. A dozen threads hung from the prongs, each connected to a feather or seashell, and a dozen more threads connected to what looked like a dreamcatcher between the antlers. A turquoise gem glowed within the elegant spiral of threads, and Christopher found himself taking another step back.

 _Magic,_ he thought. The woman was a stranger, all copper-toned skin and lithe muscles beneath a doeskin dress, and her hair fell to her knees in a sleek wave of inky-black. She wore a headdress as well, a strange adornment crowned in regal-looking feathers.

"Impossible," he said, shaking his head. "I checked the ward this morning."

"More to the point," added Jian in a wary voice. "Who are you, lady?"

"What he said," added Christopher. The dream in his hand seemed to splutter until it was just a wisp. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to concentrate, but with every droplet of magic he coaxed into his palm, the dream seemed further and further away. For the first time since boarding that bloody ship, he felt afraid. In his entire life, his Dream Touch had never once flickered like it, he felt almost naked, as if his last scrap of protection had been snatched away a second before he was buried in a rain of arrows.

"Impressive though your arts may be, Prince Christopher Floréte Charming," said the woman, raising an eyebrow in his direction, "The magic of the Guardians has no power in this land."

"Lovely and cryptic," said Jian. "I'll ask this again, lady, and you'd best answer unless you want me to come over there. Who the hell are you?"

"How quick to anger you are, General Li Jian." The woman smiled. "You are welcome to come over to me. I'm in no danger from one such as you."

"You sure about that?" asked Christopher with as much false bravado as he could muster, waving his stick in her direction. "I've taken down a Faceless before. You're nothing compared to that."

"Perhaps I should have been clearer," said the woman. "The magic of Tsar Luna and his Guardians has no place in this land, but my magic does not stem from them." She waved her staff out in front of her, and the air seemed to gleam with a myriad of vibrant colours. "There is no need for hostility, however. If I wished you two harm, you both would already be dead."

That was the second time she'd said that, and Christopher winced at the notion that he was truly without magic on these strange shores. It would explain why his ward hadn't stopped her from approaching their camp, why his attempts at projecting a dream of himself into Ali's mind had all ended in failure, and why the dream was seeping from his fingers like water. _It's not Guardian magic, though… The Godmother gave me my gift._ He winced, his mind connecting the pieces in seconds. It would seem that whatever it was about this place that blocked Guardian magic also blocked the gifts they gave.

"That's very reassuring," said Christopher, hoping his tone wasn't as sarcastic as his words. He waved his stick out in front of him once more and took a step closer to Jian. "It would probably be more reassuring if you weren't behaving so suspiciously."

"What he said," added Jian. "People who come in peace don't sneak up on people, they don't wave about magic sticks, and they introduce themselves."

"Indeed." The woman chuckled before shaking her head. "I am Chieftess Pocahontas, the leader of my people. We've been watching you with caution for some time now, but Grandmother Willow has finally spoken. She wishes to meet you, Prince Charming, and I do believe it would be rude to leave your friend behind."

"Grandmother Willow?" asked Christopher, ignoring the indignant expression on Jian's face.

"You will see if you follow, or you will die of old age waiting for rescue on this beach. The choice is yours." Pocahontas nodded once before turning from them. As though she was taking a morning constitutional, she walked towards the treeline without so much as a glance to check if they were following.

"What do you think?" hissed Jian, nudging him in the side.

"I think it's our only shot at this point," replied Christopher, trying to keep the unease from his voice. "If it goes wrong, we'll just have to hope we can run faster than her."

"You always know just what to say to ease the tension." Jian sighed.

Reaching out, he clasped a hand to Christopher's shoulder, and Chris could only nod at the show of camaraderie before they followed the strange woman—Pocahontas—into the woods.

* * *

Jaq Charmant had long given up hope of rescue or ransom.

His sister's letters arrived with surprising regularity, carried by crows and written in a code known only to the Charmant family, but her words dripped with empty platitudes and assurances. _Hold on,_ she urged. _I'm praying for you. I'll save you. I'm working on a plan._ With every letter he flung into the fireplace, his hope grew a little dimmer, and today, the very last spark had been quashed.

He didn't blame her. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to do so. If it was in her power to pluck him free from Lucis Castle, he knew that Lucile would have done it in a heartbeat. At least she was safe in Aquitania. That small fact alone made it all worth it. _I am my sister's sword and shield, and she's safe now._

Not for the first time, he glanced towards the balcony and wondered what it would feel like to fly like the crows. It would be a long fall, he knew. Lucis Castle was built atop and within a mountain overlooking the heart of Somnia, and there were days when he could reach out from the windows and touch the clouds. It wouldn't be so bad, though, not really. Flying would be so much sweeter than having to spend another night with Aurelia.

The girl in question—his forcefully wedded wife—was strewn across the bed in what he imagined she must think to be a seductive pose, though it rather resembled a picture he'd once seen in a medical book of a woman who'd broken her spine. It would not be long before he was expected to join her, and the thought sent a shudder of revulsion down his spine. Once upon a time, he'd imagined that it was a small price to pay to ensure his sister's safety, but he hadn't considered the toll it would take on his mind.

Once again, he looked up from his seat beside the dresser to gaze out the balcony. It wouldn't hurt that much, not from this height. He'd fly like the crows, and then it would all be over. Maybe this was what his dreams were trying to tell him: that recurring nightmare of the white rabbit and the hole that never seemed to end.

It was with shocking suddenness that the door slammed open, and he snapped back to reality. Whirling, he ignored the high-pitched squeal that escaped Aurelia's lips as she scrambled for the sheets, and he schooled his features into as impassive a mask as he could manage as Leon Rêvere strode into the room, a cold expression on his face.

"I wish I had the time to lounge around naked," he snapped at his sister. "Mother wants to see you… something about slacking on your sorcery training."

"Could you not have knocked?" Aurelia snapped. Jaq watched, mildly amused as the usual expression of haughty indifference slid off her face. With a furious flush, she bundled the sheets around her and stomped towards the bathroom. "Mother isn't going to—"

"She's considering using you for target practice," Leon drawled as the bathroom store slammed shut.

He reached up to run a finger upon his throat. There was a faint scar upon his collarbone, and Jaq's eyes grew wide. _He's not implying what I think he's implying? Is he?_ No. As twisted as the Rêveres were, there was no way that Aurora would use her own children as targets for her archery.

"Charmant," said Leon in a stiff sort of way, his gaze flickering across the room and catching Jaq staring.

"Rêvere," replied Jaq. "I did not expect you to be in Lucis Castle."

"As loathe as I am to leave Tenebrae, Father sent for me." Something flickered across Leon's gaze. "Why? Have you missed me?"

 _Tenebrae,_ thought Jaq. Idly, he remembered from his lessons that Tenebrae was a province of Somnia that had once been an independent kingdom ruled by Queen Aurora's father, only to be folded into the Rêvere kingdom when King Philip had freed Aurora from the Sleeping Beauty curse and wed her. _Tenebrae,_ he recalled, was Leon's personal seat of power. It was his mother's homeland, and the rule had been given to him to settle the nobility.

If anything, the whole affair made Jaq want to laugh. So much petty intrigues, he thought, when it didn't even matter in the end. Leon would always be a common duke who styled himself a prince because of his birth, and it would be his brother, Anthony, who inherited the true throne of Somnia.

"Spend enough time with your sister and you'd be grateful to see Pitch Black himself," retorted Jaq. As soon as the words left his lips, he winced. _That wasn't wise._ He'd be paid back in pain for his insolence.

To his surprise, Leon chuckled, amusement glinting in his grey eyes. Running his fingers through his ash-blond hair, he leaned back against the wall, surveying Jaq with a strange look in his eyes. A shiver ran down Jaq's spine at _that_ look, because Leon was staring at him as a child might look at a particularly entertaining circus performer.

"I'm rather surprised to find that you still have your wits about you, Charmant," said Leon appraisingly. "My sweet sister is known for breaking her toys as quickly as a De Vil when she's of a certain mind."

"You speak as if your reputation is not blacker," said Jaq, once again wincing as a dark glimmer crossed Leon's eyes.

A stiffness overtook the Prince of Tenebrae, and he shifted. The easy posture he'd been carrying himself with vanished in an instance, and whatever amusement had once held a place in his eyes was gone as if it had never been there in the first place.

"I do what I do for Rêvere," said Leon, his voice grim. "For Rêvere and for Tenebrae."

Jaq opened his mouth to point out that the prince hadn't mentioned Somnia itself, and perhaps it was not a wise thing to say, but it's absence had been curious. He was spared, however, by Aurelia emerging from the bathroom is a frilly lilac dress. His wife blew a kiss in his direction as she stalked towards the door, and he fought back the urge to gag.

Without warning, she paused beside her brother and shoved an athame into his throat. Leon's eyes went wide as blood poured down his side, and his eyes narrowed to slits as he crumpled to the ground. Jaq gaped, not believing what he was seeing, and Aurelia knelt beside her dying brother to press a kiss to his cheek.

"For not knocking, Leon," she whispered, and before anything more could be said or done, she'd walked out the door.

As Jaq got to his feet with the intention of assisting the prince—even if it was Leon Rêvere—he came to a screeching halt. For a single second, Leon was still upon the floor, lying in a growing pool of his own blood. Then, with a deep, rattling breath, he jerked back to his feet, the cut along his throat already stitching itself together into a faint scar. Drenched in his own blood, he stretched, an expression of pure hatred on his face.

"What? You were? No? I saw…"

"Me die," snapped Leon. "Hurts like hell, but there's nothing I can't shrug off." He rolled his neck, looking as if he wanted to say more. Dropping his gaze to his boots, he shook his head. "For Tenebrae," he murmured. "For Rêvere."

Without waiting to say more, he stalked away and slammed the door behind him, leaving Jaq to stare after him in shock, incredulousness, and disbelief.

* * *

The throne room of Solaris was awash in finery: the windows polished until they shone like fine crystal, the golden stanchions bordering the red carpet crowned in glowing sunbursts, the tapestries upon the walls proclaiming both the sun of Corona and the rose of Amoré, the tables laden with flutes of wine and platters of delicate pastries. It was a great day in the history of their kingdoms, an end to the war and a unification beneath a single throne. This was something she had dreamed off, something she had yearned for, something she had planned with Cornelius…

Yet, as the most truculent nobles knelt before her, all Alyssa felt was cold. Masking her expression in indifference, she sank into the single throne upon the dais, her crown heavy upon her brow. Her gaze flickered across the room, taking in the knights at every door, all of them proudly wearing her sigil upon their cloaks. _Amoréans,_ she knew, _handpicked by Silvanus._

She could not trust what was left of Corona's military, not without her husband there to ensure their loyalty. _Cornelius, how could you?_ Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself once more. Lightly, she flicked her wrist at her majordomo, Quirin, an old man who had been great friends with her husband's grandfather. She could trust him enough to keep him close to her, at the very least. The nobles on the other hand… Solidor wanted the best for Solistaren dynasty, and he would support her so long as her children lived; Waynwood was treacherous and greedy, Nygaard was too proud by half, to say nothing of the dozen others who knelt before her. Half these people had rebelled when Tremaine invaded, and she'd had to put out the fires with the blood of her own knights. _Never forget. Forgive them, perhaps, but never forget._ She had her twins to consider; Flynn and Isabella were barely a month old, and she was well aware of the knives hidden within this very room.

 _Daggers in the dark_ , her father's voice whispered in her mind. So be it. If they wished to challenge her reign, she would bring them to heel once again. She had done it alone already, and she would do so again if the need arose, even if she had to do it with her bare hands. _The roses wilt,_ her mother whispered, _but the thorns will always remain._

"Assembled dignitaries and lords," began Quirin in his deep, reassuring voice, "Now that we have concluded with the formalities, Queen Alyssa invites you to enjoy the refreshments provided and mingle at your leisure. Should you desire to—"

A servant tugged on his sleeve, interrupting him, and Alyssa snapped around in surprise. The boy was a slip of a thing, all elbows and knees beneath his uniform, and when he spoke, she saw that he was missing two teeth. _So young._ There was no helping it. Too many men and women had died in the war, and someone needed to take up their mantles now that they were gone. _Gone, through no choice of their own. Gone, but not deserted._ She steeled herself. Not now. She had to be strong now. She had to maintain her facade.

"My apologies," said Quirin to the room at large after turning away from the whispering boy. "I must insist we stand on formality for a slight bit longer due to a last-minute arrival. Lords and ladies of Corona and Amoré, I present King Arnadalr of Arendelle and his consort—"

He squinted, seeming confused before turning back towards the page and whispering something, but Alyssa had long since stopped paying attention. _Godmother… Nick?_ The doors were already creaking open, and the entire world all but fell away around her as she glimpsed her best friend making his way into the room with Morgan at his side. If it had been hard to keep her composure before… She swallowed thickly as she rose from her throne, ignoring the hushed whispers that were flooding the room.

Nick was gaunter than he'd been a fortnight ago, his hair grown messy beneath his circlet, but in his ceremonial attire and fur-lined cloak, he looked distinctly intimidating. His staff tapped the floor with every step he took, and at his side, Morgan looked quite uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of so many stares. _They're used to him in Arendelle,_ she thought, _but here?_ Drawing in a deep breath, she descended from the dais and embraced Nick as companionable as she could, knowing that she could not dissolve into his arms as she so desired.

"You came," she whispered.

"As if I would miss your coronation," he murmured, his arm tight around her back. Pressing a demure kiss to her brow, he turned to face the rest of the room. In a louder and somewhat frostier voice, he continued, "The friendship between Arendelle, Corona, and Amoré is an old one, and I need not remind any present of the blood ties that remain. I am dearly _thrilled_ to be here to witness my _beloved friend and cousin-in-law_ ascend to the throne, and it brings much joy to my heart to know my _nephew's_ kingdom is in such _good hands_ until he reaches his majority. Now, I seem to have interrupted the festivities. Do enjoy yourselves. I shall leave the mingling to the rest of you whilst I confer with _Queen_ Fitzherbert."

Alyssa did not need to be as skilled a diplomat as her mother had been to understand the hidden meaning in his words, and it was clear by the looks shared amongst her nobles that they understood as well. Truly, Nick could not have made his point any clearer than if he'd decided to turn one of the more disagreeable nobles into an ice statue. _Do not cross them, because that means crossing me, and you do not want to cross a king with a frozen heart._ She didn't know whether to thump him or kiss him upon the cheek for his show of protectiveness.

At the end of all, however, it meant the world to her that she still had him.

"How are Flynn and Isabella?" asked Morgan, a wry smile spreading across his lips as she led them up the dias. A servant was already fetching a pair of high-backed chairs to set beside the throne, and Alyssa could not help but smirk at the expressions worn by some of the nobles. Doubtless, they had known Nick since he'd been a toddler playing with Cornelius in this very room, but it was clear that a great many of them did not know the man he'd grown into.

"Sleeping," she replied with a fond smile. "Silvanus recommended I have them with me during the ceremony, but they slept terribly last night. Waking them from a nap today would have resulted in them bringing down the roof with their wailing."

"They take after you, then," said Nick. "I've never known a child to scream as loudly as you used to."

"If you recall, I only screamed so loudly because you and… because the two of you insisted on pulling the most ghastly pranks on me." Her smile trembled, and his face fell. "There's still no word, Nick."

"I know," he replied, and his expression grew grim. Looking as though he wanted to hit something, he turned away. "Cor's always been reckless, but this stunt… Godmother, I don't know what I'd do if he waltzed into the room right now."

"Either punch him in the face or hug him because you miss him, knowing you," supplied Morgan. "He was seen passing the Eléadoréan border the last we've heard, but that was weeks ago."

"I am aware." Alyssa sighed. There were too many eyes on her, and she had to remain steady. Sucking in a deep breath, she sat upright upon her throne. "A change of topic, please. I cannot cry in front of the people I lead."

Morgan and Nick shared a quick glance before nodding, and in seconds, they had turned their attentions towards the progress she was making in reclaiming the outer regions of Amoré. It was slow-going and made for tedious conversation, but it kept her mind occupied. She could not fall to pieces, not here and not now. Not when every eye was on her and she had to be a queen first, Alyssa second.

* * *

"You know, it's very hard to remember how terrifying you can be because I know what you look like when you're snoring into my tail with drool coming out of your mouth, but then you go and decide to threaten the assembled nobility of Corona without so much as a blink."

Nick chuckled into the goosefeather pillow, and Morgan felt a grin spread across his lips as he traced small circles along his lover's back. It was good to hear Nick laugh. These days, it had become an all too rare occurrence, yet it seemed that their short break from Arendelle had done wonders for Nick's mood.

In the guest bedroom within Solaris Castle, it was almost easy to forget that they weren't a king and his consort, and it was even easier to fall back into their old roles of Frosty and the dragon. A lot had changed, perhaps, and their relationship was nowhere near as awkward and chaste as it had been in those early days, but Morgan wouldn't change things for the world. The grief and pain? Yes. If he could wish those away, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

But his Frosty? He'd rather sell his soul than change a single thing about the love they'd found.

"That tickles," said Nick, shifting slightly against the bed.

"Should I stop?" Morgan asked, raising an eyebrow as he trailed his fingers to the small of Nick's back, smirking at the jolt that ran through his boyfriend. The small of Nick's back had always been sensitive, though if he really wanted to get a rise out of his boyfriend, he'd be reaching for his most ticklish spot: his inner thighs.

"I didn't say that," murmured Nick, squirming a little beneath the sheets. "Just… not there. Move your hand back up."

In ordinary circumstances, Morgan would have most likely pointed out that he'd prefer moving his hand _down,_ but the slight inflection in Nick's voice told him all he needed to know. As Nick rolled over to face him, Morgan could already see the smile beginning to smile, and he knew that this was going to be another long night. Instinctively, he allowed his tail to emerge from the base of his spine to curl around his boyfriend's waist.

"What's wrong?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You were grinning just twenty minutes ago."

"Twenty minutes ago I was putting my niece and nephew back into their cribs," replied Nick with a wan smile. "It's very difficult to feel sad when you have a baby tucked into each arm."

"So what you're saying is that I need to kidnap Flynn and Isabella so that you always have them on hand?" Morgan teased. "Alyssa may object, but I'd do it to see you smile more often."

"Let's not consider stealing babies just yet." Nick sighed as he scooted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his chest. "I'm just… it's hard being here, Morgan. I rarely visited Solaris Castle because Cor and his parents rarely left the capital, but it's still Corona, and everything about this place just reminds me about another person I've lost."

"We don't know that, Frosty," said Morgan. "Maybe he just needed to get away for a while after everything that happened. We haven't lost him."

"I'm going to tell you the very bitter truth right now, Morgan," said Nick, his words muffled against Morgan's chest. "Even if he comes back, I don't know how I'll forgive him for this."

"Nick…"

Morgan felt cool tears running down his chest, and he tightened his hold around Nick. Tears were something he'd learned how to wipe away. Over the last month, his boyfriend had made him into something of an expert, much to his own dismay. _I'd rather you wore that grin again, Frosty, and that your eyes were as dry as they were on the day we met._ Yet, this was a part of love that the trashy novels he read didn't touch on, because there was always a whirlwind romance with a happy ending.

Nobody ever told you about all the broken pieces that went into building the perfect picture of a happy ending, though, but Morgan didn't mind. _I'll love you when you're laughing and I'll love you when you're crying, Frosty._ He ran his fingers through Nick's tangled hair, the both of them falling into comfortable silence as Nick sobbed into his chest.

"I dropped _everything_ to help him," said Nick. "I loved him like a brother and I had to kill him to save him. It doesn't matter that he came back. I felt his blood trickling through my hands, Morgan. It was supposed to be okay after that, right? Where was he when my dad died?"

"My mother died. My dad died. His dad died. Aunt Rapunzel is still a broken-minded husk. What does he do? What does he do, Morgan? He abandons his kids without a word to any of us. He leaves Alyssa. He leaves Flynn and Isabella. He leaves Corona. He leaves _me."_

"That doesn't mean we've lost him, Nick," reassured Morgan, because even if there were days when he would gladly set Cornelius on fire for the pain he was putting the people who loved him through, he also wanted to believe the best of his friend. He could be grieving. He could be mourning in his own way. He could even be trying to pick up the pieces and fix himself before trying to help fix others. Deep down, he knew that Nick believed these things as well, but on nights like these, it was so much easier to dwell on the fact that _Cornelius had run away._

"It means—" Nick's breathing was ragged, "—that _he isn't here._ That Alyssa is falling to pieces trying to hold it all together, and he isn't here to help her. It means that Flynn and Isabella are nearly a month old and they'd never so much as seen their father outside a picture, because he isn't here. It means that Corona nearly descended into open anarchy, because he isn't here. It means that when my dad died in my arms, and I had a single night to grieve before having to shove my pain away and rule my kingdom, when I wanted nothing more than to just speak to my cousin, my cousin who's as good as a brother to me, who knew me since we were both infants, _he wasn't there._ Why? It isn't because he's dead. I could understand that. It's not because he's in a coma or under a curse? I could understand that as well."

"No…" concluded Nick with a shake of his head, a hint of cold steel creeping into his voice. "He isn't here because he chose not to be here, and that's why I've lost him, because the Cor I grew up with… he'd still be here."

* * *

Count Franco DiFortunato was quite happy with the way things had turned out. He was son-in-law to a queen and husband to a future queen, even if his lovely wife left much to be desired in terms of beauty and companionship. He shook himself. Drizella was a lovely person, she was, if you squinted… hard… from a distance. Their children were sweet, at the very least. He had no idea from where it had come, but Thomas and Jerrod had none of the Tremaine nature, and they had very little of him in them either.

It was late, but there was no helping that. Lady Sofia of Enchancia had tripled the guard around her city in response to the unrest plaguing the countryside, and it had been a nightmare to get through the checkpoints and customs offices. Nevertheless, his convoy had made it through, and it was only a few days ride to the capital.

Drizella would be there waiting and, after so long apart, she might have grown a little warmer to him. Absence and fond hearts and all that rot, but Thomas and Jerrod would be there as well. His boys would be fifteen and ten now, ready to swing swords. Perhaps Thomas would be able to accompany him on his next adventure.

Reaching into his coat, he drew out his pocket watch and popped it open. The picture there was an old one, the colors faded to pale yellow, but their smiles were as bright as ever. He swallowed. It would be good to return home once more.

The night was cold, and he drew the thick curtains of his carriage shut to stave off the chill. Eléadoré would be growing warm now that spring was upon them, but the region of Enchancia was notorious for its lingering winters. In truth, this was the coldest winter he had ever known. It was said that the cold winds brewed within the Bay of Frost and the White Mountains of Arendelle before sweeping out across the other kingdoms, and Franco was inclined to believe them. He'd heard troubling things as of late, and it was not for the first time that a pang of doubt entered his mind.

His mother-in-law was a proud woman, and he could not deny that he had benefited greatly from her coup. Still… no. He shook himself. The ink was dry and history had been written, and there was no going back now. All he could do was hope that the wars to come were not to cruel on his family, and that his boys grew up hale and hearty.

A loud twang snapped him from his reverie, and his carriage jolted to a halt. A horse shrieked, and he tensed as a yell tore through the air. _What madness?_ Reaching for his sword, a series of twangs resounded through the silence of the night, closely followed by a series of thumps. He heard a few grunts and groans, and then the deafening silence returned.

Swallowing, he slid open the door to his carriage. It was cold, and his breath misted before his eyes as he climbed out into the night. There was nothing there. On either side of the road, the woods loomed up, dark and misty. His mouth dry, he glanced around, and his heart sank in his chest.

His driver leaned back in his seat with a single arrow through his eye. Blood dripped down his face, and Franco looked around in alarm. Where were his guardsmen? Rushing to the driver's seat, he stumbled over something soft and warm. Steadying himself against the carriage, he looked down to see the dead soldier. The man stared with unseeing eyes gone glassy, an arrow in his throat.

A twang echoed through the night, and Franco yelped as the arrow caught him by the collar and sank into the wood. He jerked, but the thick fabric was strong, and he was stuck. Reaching for his sword, he turned in time for another arrow to sail from the woods and take him in the sleeve, pinning his sword hand to the door.

"A miss," he called out with false bravado. "The bow is a coward's weapon. Come forth and show your face like a man."

A chill ran down his spine as a hooded man emerged from the treeline. His face was cast in shadow, and only a few strands of blond hair poked out over his brow. A quiver hung at one side of his waist, filled with arrows fletched with black feathers, and at the other side hung a sword. The longbow in his hand was goldenwood, the limbs ending in wings, and that was certainly not an Eléadoréan design.

"Is it gold you want, bandit? You can have it. All of it. I have chests of gold and sapphires aboard this convoy, and a dozen casks of spice besides. Rolls of silk as well. Please, take it all and leave me my life," said Franco, forcing his fear away.

"I already have more gold than I know what to do with," said the man, and his lips curled into a sneer beneath his cloak. "What would I do with more?"

The hooded man strung the bow onto his back and reached for his sword. Like his bow, it looked out of place upon a bandit. The leaf-shaped blade was Arendellian, but the crossguard was a whorl of red-gold roses, an Amoréan design, but the sunburst upon the pommel could only be of Corona.

"What is it that you want then? My mother-in-law is the queen. She can give you anything."

"Can she bring back the dead?"

"What?" Franco was confused. _What kind of question is that?_ It made no sense. There was no power upon this world that could bring the dead back to life, for it was but one of the only two absolutes. _Is this a game? A trick question of some sort?_ He had heard such stories in his childhood, of riddlers who stopped you upon the roads and demanded the answers to the unanswerable in exchange for passage.

Yet, the man's chest moved, and his sneer only grew as sweat began to bead upon Franco's brow.

"Can she bring back the dead?" repeated the bandit. "Can she breathe life into the villagers and farmers and tanners that her army butchered? Can she wake dead children so that their mothers can hold them again, so that they can play with their fathers? Can she bring back parents who've left their children behind because of the war she started?"

"Of course she can't," said Franco, but the bandit didn't seem to hear him.

"Can she sow the fields that she burned? Refill the granaries she torched? Feed the people who starved because of her? Tell me, Count DiFortunato, can she restore sanity to a broken mind? Can she bring my mother back, and my father as well? Can she allow me to _die?"_

Franco swallowed. A chill ran down his spine. His heart thudded in his chest, and he shook his head. He knew now what he faced. It was a broken man. Wars did that to the best of people, to take and take from them until they had nothing to give, and then it took some more. Shaking his head, he raised his free hand in surrender. _The boys. I'm not going to see my boys again._ The realization made him sad.

"Mercy," he pleaded. "I have children. I had no part in what happened. I wasn't even in Eléadoré when the coup happened, or the invasion of Corona. I didn't do anything. I'll give you anything. Please. I'm begging. Please, let me go."

"Mercy?" The hooded man chuckled. He stepped forward. "Very well. This will be quick."

With a single swipe of his sword, the bandit opened Franco's throat from ear to ear. Blood filled his mouth as he gurgled for breath, twitching against the carriage. His sword slipped from his fingers as he went limp, blinking sluggishly as the strength poured from his body.

The hooded man lingered for a few more moments. Then, he wiped his sword clean upon Franco's coat and turned away. Sheathing his blade, he walked off into the trees without a word.


	55. Older

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Eight**

 **Older**

* * *

Ali opened his eyes to find the first light of dawn streaming in through his windows. The curtains billowed in the morning breeze, and he stretched across his sheets. Beside him, Aquaria stirred, and he smiled as he rolled onto his side to face her. She cuddled closer to him, her hair tickling his chest, and he simply wrapped an arm around her.

After all they had endured, these last few months had been a little slice of heaven, and he was happy to simply be able to wake up with her beside him. There were a dozen things to worry about, and his shoulders were heavy with the weight upon them, but the stolen moments he could share with Aquaria and Ephraim made it all worth it.

"You're tense," she muttered, cuddling closer to him. Tilting her head up, she looked into his eyes and sighed. "I'm sure he's fine, Ali."

"It isn't like Christopher to disappear off the face of the earth, Aquaria," he replied. "Jessica wouldn't even talk about what went down between them after Margaret, and she took off as soon as I'd paid her. I just… so much isn't adding up, and I don't like any of it."

"Princess Sigrun and her dragonriders are searching from the sky, Cas has his merfolk scouring the sea, and Lucile has her animals searching as well. If he's out there, we'll find him."

"And what if he isn't out there? What if he's—"

"He isn't dead. Pooh and the toys are tied to Christopher the same way that snowman in Arendelle was bound to Queen Elsa, and last I checked, the toys were still playing with Ephraim. If he died, we'd be the first to know."

Ali sighed. She was making sense, but the not knowing just made things worse. In many ways, he felt responsible for Christopher, even if that didn't really make sense. His best friend was a grown man just like him, but Christopher… he was a passable combatant, but he wasn't an exceptional one, and he'd still been learning to focus his magic. Worse than that, without Jessica, he'd be alone with nobody to watch his back.

"Look at it this way," Aquaria said, running her fingers down his arm. "Christopher has survived things that a great many other people never could. After Amoré and Corona, do you really think there's anything that could stand in his way?"

Ali smiled wryly, knowing full well what she was doing. His wife always knew what to say to make him feel better. In this, however, she was more correct than she probably knew. Pushing his concern for his friend to the back of his mind, he wrapped an arm around Aquaria and drew her close to his before pressing a kiss to her brow.

"I could get used to this," she murmured into his chest.

"The morning cuddles, the pep-talks or the lack of clothes?" he asked, amused.

"All of the above," she replied. Her fingers trailed down his side to draw small circles along his hip, and she chuckled at his stifled moan. "And no, we don't have time for that. Eph will be up soon."

"He spent the night with Mum and Dad," protested Ali. "I'm pretty sure they've got it all in hand."

Aquaria drew away from him, a teasing smile on her face as she rose into a sitting position. The sheets covered her body, but the thin fabric did little to hide her curves. Playfully, he reached out to tug at the sheet, only for her to smack his hand away.

"I said we don't have time for that," said Aquaria. "Save it for tonight."

With a long-suffering sigh, Ali flopped down onto the bed. Folding his hands behind his head, he pouted at his wife as she climbed out of bed and reached for her clothes. Bundling them up to her chest, she strode towards the bathroom, giving him a perfect view of her rear before she slipped through the door. A few seconds later, the sound of running water filled the room.

"Tease," he yelled after her, and the only response he got was laughter.

Running a hand through his shoulder-length hair, Ali stretched again before hopping out of bed. Slipping on his smallclothes and harem pants, he headed for the dresser to make sure he was presentable enough to show his face at breakfast. His own bath would have to wait, unfortunately, given his wife's tendency to use every drop of hot water in the tank which supplied his bathroom. It would take at least an hour or two to refill, and he could probably work in his morning training before then.

Still, he needed to brush his teeth.

Ali was halfway to the bathroom when the bedroom door opened, and Rajah walked in. The old tiger's whiskers had long turned grey, and he was not as fast as he once was, but he still kept a regal gait. Ephraim sat astride his back, clinging to the tiger's fur with his fat little fists. When he saw Ali, he let go of Rajah and flung out his arms, babbling as only a child of eighteen months could.

Ali's eyes grew wide as his son lost his balance and began to slide. Without hesitation, he lunged, moving as quickly as he could to catch Ephraim by the collar of his vest before he slipped off completely, and he spun around to keep his balance while wrapping his son in his arms. Ephraim giggled, oblivious to the near-accident, and at that moment, the door burst open and Aladdin came charging in, still in his sleepwear, looking as though he'd just run a mile. No sooner did he come to a stop did four guardsmen rush in behind him, brandishing their swords.

"Sultan Aladdin," said Hakim, the guard in the lead. "Where is the threat?"

"No threat." Aladdin gasped, waving the guards away. "Just my grandson getting up to no good at an ungodly hour. At ease, soldiers, and please don't tell the Sultanah about this… incident."

Hakim raised an eyebrow before shaking his head. Striking the haft of his polearm upon the ground, he gestured once and the guards behind him left the room. He lingered for a few more moments, looking from a breathless Aladdin to an irritated Ali before letting his eyes fall on a drooling Ephraim. Finally, as if more perplexed now than he'd been when he'd burst into the room, he shook his head and took his leave.

"Dad," said Ali, looking up at his father with a glare. "For the last time, you're not supposed to be letting Eph ride Rajah yet. He's too young." Turning to the tiger, he tapped him lightly on the head. "And as for you, I don't care how much he tugs at your fur. No rides until he's at least two."

"I took my eyes off him for a minute while your mother stepped into the bathroom," said Aladdin, clutching at his side. "He's faster than you were when you were his age."

"Da da," agreed Ephraim, reaching up to tug at Ali's hair.

"Nobody is as fast as I am," said Ali, patting his son on the back. "But he comes close. Just… no more taking your eye off him when Rajah's around. This one can't be trusted around Ababwa children, can he?"

Rajah purred as he nuzzled his head against Ali's hip, and Aladdin chuckled before patting the tiger on the back. As Aladdin leaned over the tiger, he seemed to realize his state of undress for the first time, and his eyes widened.

"I'd better go get dressed," he said. "And don't tell your mother about this incident."

Before Ali could respond, his father had taken off, and he was left alone with the tiger and his son. Wagging another warning finger at Rajah, he closed one arm around Ephraim and headed to the bathroom, wincing as his son tugged harder at his hair.

"No, Eph," he said, "No pulling Daddy's hair."

In response, Ephraim giggled and pulled harder. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ali tried to ignore the tugging as he closed the bathroom door behind him and headed for the sink. Aquaria lounged in the tub, looking amused, and it was clear by her expression that she'd already heard the entire incident as it transpired.

"And you said Caspian is a bad babysitter," she admonished with a roll of her eyes.

"Give it a year, and Dad will have Eph riding Carpet all over Agrabah whenever he takes his eyes off him," said Ali, shaking his head as a dozen fond memories filled his mind. "I think I was three the first time I stole Carpet and flew to the nearest oasis."

Aquaria raised an eyebrow as she ran the sponge over her arms, and he held up his free hand in surrender.

"I turned out fine, though," he added. "Or fine enough that you married me."

Aquaria chuckled. "We'll look into getting him a helmet, just to be on the safe side."

* * *

"Did you give him my letter?" cawed Lucile, stroking the crow's feathers.

"Yes, my lady," replied the crow. "Your brother was grateful, but dares not put his own words to paper. He is never alone long."

"Are they treating him well?" she asked. "His… wife. Has she been kind?"

"He assures you that he is coping," replied the crow.

Lucile sighed. That was not the answer she had been hoping for, but it was the best that she could have hoped for. While he was alive, there was still hope. No matter the torment, no matter the pain. She had already proved as much with Caspian. While there was life, there was hope, and hope was something she could cling to. Stroking the crow's feathers once more, she flicked her wrist. The crow took flight for the rookery, and she smoothed her skirts before turning away from the balcony.

Caspian was waiting for her in his bedroom. He leaned over his desk, his left hand twitching as he wrote. Coming to stand behind him, she smiled. Once, his letters had been splotchy and unreadable, but now the words were legible, and it no longer took him an entire day to write a single letter. He'd never be able to write in the flowing script he'd once favoured, but his scrawl looked less and less like a crow's scratches with every passing day.

"Good news?" he asked, looking up with a faint smile on his lips. "You're… you're smiling."

"Are you implying that I don't smile enough, Cas?" she said, a teasing lilt in her eyes as she rested her hand on his shoulder.

He started but didn't shudder, and she slipped onto his lap. His breathing grew slightly ragged as she met his eyes, and she cupped his cheek with her free hand. There was no jolt or flash of panic as he set down his quill and linked his fingers with hers. His smile was a little too tight, and his shoulders were tense, but he was not pushing her away either. _Progress,_ she thought, leaning her brow against his. _Progress is good._

"Steady," she murmured. "It's just me."

"It's just you," he repeated. "Just my… my Luce."

His breathing steadied, and he relaxed beneath her touch. His right arm twitched as he moved it, reaching to grasp her waist, and she didn't miss the flicker of pain that passed through his eyes at the movement. There was a lot that could be healed with time, but Cas' arm was not one of those things. The scars may have faded, and he no longer resembled a skeleton, but the joint in his shoulder had only grown worse over the winter. It was the cold, the clerics had said.

"Don't strain yourself," she said.

"It won't kill me to hold you," he replied. "I don't mind."

At his words, she leaned in for a kiss. He obliged without hesitation, pressing his lips to hers for a few seconds. It was soft and chaste, and when he pulled away from her, the taste of him lingered on her tongue, like static in the air after a furious storm.

"I've been meaning to tell you," he said, reaching for his desk with his good hand. "This arrived in the morning. It's from our scouts in Eléadoré."

He handed her the letter, and she unfolded it as quickly as she could, barely pausing to note that the seal had been broken. Quickly, she scanned the words before setting it down, and a lump formed in her chest. Biting her lower lip, she looked up to him and swallowed.

"Grand Duke Monocolao is dead," she said. "His party was pierced by arrows, and his head was left at the castle gates. I know he sided with Tremaine to keep his own head, but… he didn't deserve such a grisly end."

"Law is breaking down in Eléadoré," said Caspian. "The winter was hard, and the… the nobility who hated your mother are still well-fed in their castles, but the common people, those who loved the Charmants are… are suffering. They remember that no matter how unorthodox your mother may have been, that she always saw to it that they… they were fed and warm. The first sparks of rebellion are… are coming, and outlaws and bandits are raiding throughout the land."

"It will become another Renvale," said Lucile. "They have their Mad Huntswoman and now Eléadoré has this… this beast butchering families while they travel. I can't let that happen, Cas."

"I have… have a few hundred men, and perhaps three dozen merfolk who are still in fighting shape. Not enough to bring order, but they're yours if… if you want them."

 _No._ Lucile couldn't accept that. She had seen the devastation left by Ursula. More than that, she remembered the soldiers she'd tended to as they lay dying. As much as she wanted to, she could not drag Cas' people into another war, not after they had already bled so much. In the days when the council was strong, she could have relied on her allies for support. Yet, Arendelle and Corona were both spent, and Agrabah had no strength at sea. Renvale had fallen and Somnia had turned traitor, and though Berk and DunBroch remained, both kingdoms had closed themselves off from the world.

She could not hope to beat Tremaine in the field, but she could not let her kingdom fall either.

"Luce?"

"You said that the people remember the Charmants? Do they remember their princess as well?"

Caspian looked troubled. "They remember their… their gentle princess, if the spies are to believed, but they don't place much hope in her. She was not a… a warrior like her father. They don't know what happened in Hamelin, and they don't know how strong you are. So, they're placing their faith in Jaq."

"Jaq is a prisoner, and I cannot free him now," she replied. "But they will know their princess, and they will know I am not made of glass. They will know that I will not easily break."

"You have a… a plan?"

"Some wars are won by steel," she replied, "And steel is bought with gold. But it can also be bought with words. How many bards and minstrels are there in Aquitania? And how many scribes?"

A flicker of understanding dawned in Caspian's eyes, and he nodded. "We're a coastal kingdom. There are… are several dozen bards in the taverns and ports of... the capital city alone. My father has enough scribes as well, though he won't be able to… to spare many. Ten, perhaps."

"That will be enough," said Lucile. In her mind, her plan began to take shape. "We will send these bards to every port in Eléadoré so that they tell the story of Hamelin, of the princess who stood against Damon De Vil, and the brave prince who rides at her side." Cas' cheeks grew pink at her words, but he didn't interrupt her.

"My crows will carry messages to every town and village, as far inland as they can. A call to arms, a promise of my return," she continued. "If all goes well, I will sail for the harbor of Echancia and raise my banners there. If the people truly wish for a Charmant restoration, I'll be able to sweep across the west in a matter of weeks. Tremaine won't know what hit her."

"One change," said Caspian, tightening his grasp on her waist. " _We_ will sail for… for Enchancia, and raise your banners there. I'm not letting you go… go into a warzone on your own."

"And with the Rogue of the Sea keeping me safe, what could harm me?" she replied, her voice soft as she leaned in for another kiss.

* * *

Sunset found Jaq sitting in the corner of the room, his back against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. In his lat sat a copy of _Dreams of Dust,_ a novel Aurelia had brought him as a reward for his good behavior, but he could barely make it past the first page. He liked reading well enough, but he had never been a fan of fiction. Stories, however entertaining, should be reserved for bards and mummers. They could bring a story to life far better than his imagination could.

He glanced around the room. His was a gentle prison, and his gaoler was sweeter than most. It could be so much worse, he thought to himself. His bed was soft and warm despite being shared, and they weren't starving him either. Sometimes, when he was good, they'd give him presents like this book to help him pass the time. The clothes he wore were comfortable, and once, King Philip had even allowed him to join them for a walk down to the city itself. Outside, a crow cawed from the balcony, sounding quite lost.

 _It could be so much worse…_

The door creaked open, and he looked up as Aurelia walked in. Her pale blonde hair had been teased into an elaborate knot of braids atop her head, and her tiara sparkled in the crackling firelight. Wearing an indigo dress and elbow-length gloves of white lace, she looked every bit the sweet princess that he knew she could sometimes be.

"Smile for me," she said as she approached. "You know that I like it when you smile."

Jaq's smile didn't reach his eyes, but it seemed to be enough. With an airy giggle, she took a s seat upon his lap and pressed her lips to his. Dutifully, he returned the kiss, a shudder running down his spine when she slipped her tongue into his mouth. When she pulled away, he fought to keep his smile.

"Am I truly so terrible that, even after all this time, you have to pretend, husband?" she asked, her gaze burning twin holes in his skull.

Jaq winced at the reminder. Their marriage was a farce no matter what the rest of the world had to say. He'd been dragged down the altar against his will and made to say his vows with a knife pressed to his throat. The only reason he'd signed a binding marriage contract had been King Philip's assurance that if he did not, a letter would be sent to Hamelin to dispose of his sister. _That's over now, though._ Lucile was safe in Aquitania, but he was a prisoner still.

"Do you want the truth?" asked Jaq. "Do you really want the truth?"

"I asked, did I not?" Aurelia's glare was harsh and cruel, but otherwise she remained chillingly impassive.

"The truth is that you're an awful person," he said. _What's the point in lying?_ His prison was a gentle prison, but a cage was still a cage. Lucile was safe. _Why keep her sweet?_ Aurelia was nicer when he was good, but did it really change anything?

Aurelia rose from his lap as if he'd slapped her, and her face contorted in anger. Jaq had faced dozens of men as skilled as he in combat, but his sweet wife's rage was one of the few things that he had truly grown to fear during his long captivity. Her nails would scour skin until blood ran down his body in rivers, but that was not so bad as the isolation. Twice already, he had angered her, and twice she had scorned his bedroom until the lack of human contact had nearly driven him mad. Like as not, there was nothing to do in his room if she decided to take away his small pleasures, and there was only so many hours he could spend daydreaming of the home he'd likely never see again.

"I've been kind to you," she said, her voice as sharp as a knife. "I've had the cooks prepare your favourite meals every day, even the peasant's dishes that you seem so fond of. I've kissed you often and given you everything you needed to be happy. I have loved you every night, doing my duty to try and give you an heir. What, pray tell, makes me an awful person?"

Jaq couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped him. "Are you blind? Deaf? Stupid?"

When she did not reply, he continued, "I'm grateful for the food, but you could give me bread and water for all it matters to me. It'll taste the same at any rate. As for the rest… you're not doing that for me. You're fucking me because you want a child that can contest my sister's right to the throne, not because you care about what I want."

She slapped him, and he laughed again as his cheek grew red.

"Look at this book." He waved it at her, the pages flapping. "Lovely, really, because you wanted to do something nice for me, as you said so eloquently when you left it on the bed while I just lay there, waiting for you to leave so I could scrub the feeling of your hands off me. Did you even bother asking me what I liked to read?"

She slapped him, harder this time.

"Thing is, Aurelia, you don't care about me. You're not kind to me. You just care about _you_ , and what you want from me."

She slapped him, and this time he caught her by the wrist, fixing her with a glare. Yanking her off her feet so that she fell to her knees beside him, he clenched his fingers until he was certain she'd be wearing a fresh bracelet of bruises come morning.

"You're cruel. You're absolutely vile. You forced me to marry you. You force yourself onto me. You force me to dress as you like and to eat what you like, and to smile at you every evening when you return to my room. You force me to beg and you force me tell you that I love you, but here's the truth."

She tugged at him, scraping at his face with her free hand, and her expression was venom made flesh. Jaq didn't think he'd ever seen her this furious, with tears in her eyes and red-splotched cheeks, and a glare that could curdle blood.

"The truth is that I will never love you," he said. "That's the one thing you're never going to force, the one thing you can't force. I will hate you until the day I die."

"Go ahead," she hissed. "That day may come sooner than you think."

 _Of course,_ he thought. _That's what I'm counting on._

* * *

"Less than a month old, and he's already a king," said Nick, his voice soft as he leaned against the open window. "It puts you in danger, you know that, right?"

The nursery was one of Alyssa's favourite places in Solaris Castle. It was a quaint room of peach walls and oaken furniture, with thick rugs upon the floor and a dozen toy-chests stacked near the hearth. It was peaceful as well—she had seen to it that there were no less than ten of her most trusted knights serving as guards at any given time, each of them handpicked by Silvanus. The nursemaids, on the other hand, were the same women who had tended to her husband when he'd been a child, though it had only been after Nick had vouched for them that she'd dared let anyone other than herself to be alone with the twins.

 _Daggers in the dark,_ she reminded herself. _Corona has no love for me without Cornelius._

She sat in a rocking chair, cradling Flynn to her chest as he napped within his swaddling blanket. He was a redhead, like her, and she prayed that the resemblance ended there. _The Beast Curse must end with me._ Across the room, Morgan was strewn across the floor, reading. His tail was curled out beside him, forming a makeshift cradle, and Isabella babbled in the little nook created by one of her godfathers. She was a blonde, but it was her children's eyes that hurt her the most.

Their eyes were blue and brilliant, already glinting with the promise of mischief, and so like their father's that it sometimes made her heart ache just to look at them.

"My little king," she whispered, reaching out to wipe a rivulet of drool from his mouth. "I do believe it may be a new record. He was crowned before he was a week old."

"Born a king," murmured Nick. "A king of _two_ kingdoms. At this point, I do believe he outranks me."

"It was what needed to be done," replied Alyssa. _It was what I had to do._ "Corona could not survive a civil war, and I did not have the numbers to defeat the more powerful rebels. They would never expect me as their true queen."

"Compromise can be a powerful thing," noted Morgan. "Let's be real. Flynn's a king in name alone. The regency and power is yours alone."

"They wanted someone from Aunt Rapunzel's line on the throne," mused Nick. "I suppose I can't fault you on your creativity, though

"Of course, the risk of me being assassinated has increased dramatically since the thought of a vacant regency and an infant monarch makes the scheming bastards wet themselves with glee," she replied, "But it's a fair price to pay to ensure a unified kingdom."

"A dangerous price, Alyssa," said Nick. "Even my protection can only go so far. I can't be in Corona forever."

"I know." She sighed, glancing at the two men in the room with her, for the first time seeming to realize that they were not the boys she'd once known. Nick had always been tall and lanky, but as he neared his eighteenth birthday, he was growing skinnier and gaunter by the day. If something wasn't done soon, he'd likely resemble a walking skeleton within a year. Morgan hadn't added much to his height, but he looked sturdier—his muscled bulk was clear through his clothes in a way that it hadn't been when they'd met. Idly, she wondered what they must make of her: had she changed as much?

"Stop looking at me like that," said Nick with a roll of his eyes. "I get that look enough from Aunt Anna and Morgan and Uncle Kristoff and even Maleficent's gotten in on the act these days."

"What look?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"The _have-you-been-eating_ look," he said. "I have, thank you very much. I've even doubled my portions to try and not look like a stick. It doesn't help."

"I've been telling him he needs to cut back on his training, though," Morgan chimed in. "You're not going to gain weight by just eating more, especially if you burn through all the energy you put like he does."

"Unfortunately, that's easier said than done." Nick sounded as though he'd had this very conversation a dozen times already. "Pitch _will_ be back, and I need to be ready for when he shows his face. This isn't over."

A chill ran down Alyssa's spine. If Tsar Luna was good, Pitch would not be free of his ice prison for several generations—she knew exactly how powerful Jack Frost could be—and after all they had already suffered in the war against Pitch, she was tired. It had been battle after battle, fight after fight, disaster and disaster, and now that they were finally picking up the pieces…

No. Pitch could not return so soon. Nick _had_ to know that.

"Your father imprisoned him in ice and Tsar Luna bound the prison with lunar runes," said Alyssa. "You told me this. Maleficent inspected the seal and said it was one of the most powerful locks she'd ever seen."

"It is," said Morgan with a shake of his head. "However, Pitch is also one of the most powerful beings in all creation. We had eleven months at most before he breaks out."

 _Eleven months._ For the first time in her life, she felt faint. Her armies had been decimated, and another war would be the end of Corona and the remnants of Amoré. Godmother above. Flynn and Isabella. Her children were infants. If war erupted once more, she'd need to be on the front lines. The Beast was too powerful to be held in reserve against someone like Pitch, but if she was fighting, how could she ensure their safety? She sank back into her chair, and her expression must have said all that she felt, for the room was already growing colder as Nick turned to face her.

"I can't promise that it's going to be okay, Alyssa, but I can promise that I will be doing everything I can to make sure no harm comes to them." Hoarfrost spilled across his cheeks, and he sighed. "It may be wiser for you to move them to Arendelle as soon as possible. I've set my blizzard to seal my borders, and Maleficent is remaining there to ensure it remains a safe bastion in these troubled times. Morrigan will take to them as well. I'm afraid my cousin is distinctly lacking in friends near her own age."

" _Maleficent_ is remaining there?" Alyssa was thrown for a loop. It made sense to move her children to Arendelle with it being the safest place in the world, but why would Nick not be there? A sliver of ice wormed its way into her heart. _No._ She had already lost Cornelius. She could not lose Nick as well.

"Aunt Anna is ruling in my steady during my absence," he said. "And I've officially named Bryn as my heir should some ill befall me, but I don't intend to return to Arendelle now that the gears of war are in motion once again."

"We waited last time," added Morgan. "Pitch picked us off one by one. He tore the Imperium to shreds, laid waste to Amoré, brought Corona to the brink of ruin and sacked the capital of Arendelle. Agrabah was decimated by the plagues. Somnia turned traitor, Renvale and Eléadoré fell, Atlantica was destroyed, and Aquitania would have perished as well had Aquaria not sacrificed the trident. Worse… there's still no word from DunBroch and Berk. King Hiccup's wyvern riders—"

"Dragon riders," corrected Alyssa, almost by instinct, knowing she needed to say something to stop the tide of horror spilling from her friend's mouth.

" _I_ am a dragon," said Morgan. "Those pesky half-breeds in Berk can't talk, can't transform, and their intelligence is nowhere near that of a true dragon. They're wyverns and drakes. Not _dragons."_

"Don't get him started," said Nick, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "But as he was saying, the wyvern riders are turning away any and all attempts at communication, and short of fighting my way in, there's no getting an audience with King Hiccup. As for DunBroch… Sigrun and Hrist both answer my letters… sometimes, but Queen Merida has invoked some sort of ancient magic to bar her lands. We cannot rely on them."

"They're the only kingdoms untouched by the war, Nick," said Alyssa, shaking her head. "We'll need them when Pitch returns."

"Aye, we shall," said Nick. "I'm hoping that Ali can talk Sigrun around so her mother at least grants us an audience, but that is not why I'm not returning to Arendelle. Destroying Pitch is beyond even Maleficent, but the Guardians must have had a way because they've taken him before."

"The Guardians are dead," said Alyssa, and she winced as the flicker of grief passed across his eyes.

"Dead, but their abodes remain. Morgan and I will be heading to the Easter Islands first in the hopes we can find something in Bunnymund's old haunt, and if that fails, we'll be going to Punjam Hy Loo."

"Granted, it would be best if we could get to Neverland or Pixie Hollow since Pan and the Godmother were the oldest of the Guardians, but with both of them dead…"

"We don't know that The Godmother has fallen," said Alyssa. "Pan? Yes. But The Godmother could still be alive."

"If she's alive, she's ignored every attempt at being summoned," said Nick, shaking his head. "Regardless, there's no getting to Neverland without Uncle Peter, and I don't even know how to get to Pixie Hollow in the first place."

"Neither does Mum," added Morgan. "She's been there before, but there's an enchantment on the place. Once you leave, you forget the way back."

Alyssa nodded. _The Easter Islands, on the far side of the world._ She sucked in a breath. Nick was right. The gears of war were in motion, and Pitch would return. If she waited in Solaris, she'd be waiting to be picked off by his minions. This time, they needed to make the first strike.

"Give me a fortnight to make preparations," she said, the iron returning to her voice. "The twins should be ready to make the trip to Arendelle by then, and it should be enough time to assemble a ruling body to govern in my absence." _Solidor is loyal to my son's future, and Silvanus can be trusted. Between the two of them, they have enough strength to keep the other nobles in line… mostly._

"Alyssa, the realms of the Guardians will be in chaos without them. There's no telling what manner of ancient monsters may have grown emboldened by their downfall and resurfaced," said Nick half-heartedly.

"Then it's good that you're bringing a Beast with you in your travels," said Alyssa in a matter-of-fact voice, reaching down to wipe another rivulet of drool from Flynn's face. "Nothing matters more than stopping Pitch. You and I both know that, Nick. If he returns and we don't have a way to stop him… Flynn and 'Bella are counting on me to give them a world worth living in, aren't they?"

Nick glanced at Morgan, a look of grim understanding passing between the two men, and when they nodded, she did as well.


	56. Stormcrow

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Nine**

 **Stormcrow**

* * *

Odile was not impressed by the manner in which Jafar occupied the seat at the head of the long table, and she was rather disgusted by the individuals currently filling the other chairs. Granted, there had been several setbacks in their plans, but if this was what they were left with, then it honestly would not be the worst idea in the world for them to throw in the towel and return to their haunts. Tsar Luna above knew that her own hatchets had been buried—Elsa and Ariel were dead, as was almost everyone who had a hand in what had happened to her father.

With their lord gone, there really was no reason for her to be here. Fear of him had served to keep her loyal through the final days of the war, but he was gone now. It was for the best, she supposed. She liked a bit of death and destruction, but Pitch Black took things to a rather apocalyptic level.

She glanced around the table, fighting to hide her disdain. Lady Tremaine was on her way out, for it was only a matter off time before Eléadoré rebelled against her brutal reign. Regina, on the other hand, was strong enough to maintain her grasp on Renvale for the moment, but Odile was quite certain the Charming brat would be coming for her eventually. As powerful a witch as she was, Regina would be hard pressed to stand against the Council on her own.

Truth be told, the only reason Odile was still here was because of that wretched Maleficent and her spawn. Her feathers rustled, and she clacked her beak, fury glistening in her eyes at the memory. Amoré… she'd been so close to destroying the lot of them when that dragon-bitch had arrived and cursed her into this half-avian form.

"It would appear that we are missing a few people," said Jafar with the air of someone discussing the weather. He smiled, the matching scars upon his cheeks making his grin look almost ghoulish.

"They're all dead," barked Tremaine. "Absolutely galling. This entire affair has been one miserable disaster after another. First, we lose Hans in that ridiculous attack on Arendelle, and then Gothel goes and gets herself disemboweled in Corona."

"Yes, Madonna." Regina rolled her eyes. "We are all wonderfully surprised that you've proven less inept than the others."

 _Madonna?_ Odile resisted the urge to snort. _Tremaine's first name was Madonna?_ Amusing names aside, she couldn't help but agree with Regina. If Odile had been a betting woman, she'd have lost all her gold on Ursula.

"Friends." Jafar said, cutting in before the two crones could begin bickering with each other. "I fear that we are getting—"

"Enough, Jafar," said Regina, snapping a finger in his direction. "I have no intention of working alongside Tremaine towards any goals, no matter how beneficial they may prove to me. I have not forgotten who it was who brought the wretched De Vils to our cause."

"How is your daughter?" Tremaine's glare was colder than the winds of Arendelle. "She was a pretty little thing, if I recall. Damon must have _loved_ having her."

Odile barely had time to register what Tremaine had said before the old noblewoman was hurtling through the air in a swirl of purple mist. Wincing at the sound of a skull cracking against stone, she rolled her eyes as Tremaine crumpled to the floor.

"Is she dead?" asked Jafar as he inspected his nails.

"I think she's breathing," muttered Odile. "Couldn't you have flung her with a bit more force, Regina?"

"I wanted to, but a nice nap will do for now," said Regina, her shrug not masking the rage upon her face. "I think I'll leave her to the Charmant siblings. I'm told that the girl is planning on making her return, and that half of Eléadoré is already in open rebellion against Madonna over there."

"Yes, well, she was always meant to serve as a distraction and nothing more," said Jafar. "Now that the festivities are over, I believe we should discuss what we're going to do with regards to our foes. King Nicholas, in particular, may prove to be a thorn in our sides, and should DunBroch and Berk decide to finally join the fray, we may find ourselves in a bit of trouble."

"There is something afoot within Arendelle," said Odile. "Unfortunately, the magic protecting the place keeps me from investigating further. I'm afraid that after his mother's tomb was plundered, he completely sealed the borders. Arendelle can only be entered with his express permission."

"Powerful," noted Jafar. "More powerful than his mother, at any rate. It is a good thing that his dark lordship left me with a few leads that could… engage us in a few new friendships."

"Please tell me you aren't considering recruiting _her._ " Regina snorted. "Zelena is nine parts dramatics to one part effectiveness."

"I wouldn't say that," said Jafar. "She did manage to take down the other witches of Oz, and the wizard as well. If all goes to plan, I'll have restored the Rainbow Bridge within a fortnight, and I'm quite sure she'll be quite happy to indulge us in a bout of wickedness."

 _Ozians. Fantastic._ Odile could count the number of people from Oz that were worth knowing on one hand and have all her fingers left over, and the Wicked Witch of the West cared more about obtaining that which she envied than in actually accomplishing her goals. With a sigh, Odile sank back into her chair, wondering if this was going to be her life now: trapped as a bird whilst being surrounded by idiots.

"You said friends," she noted, glancing up at Jafar. "As in more than one."

"Oh yes," said Jafar, and his grin was almost feral. "Oh yes."

* * *

The noose was tight around his throat, and the chair was rickety beneath his feet. Letting his eyes slip shut, Cornelius sucked in a breath and kicked.

A sickening snap echoed through the room, and he went limp, swinging from the rafters like a marionette. His soul fluttered as it left his body, and it sighed with relief as it began to rise. _Finally. Finally. Finally._ The fire came all too soon. Flames of black and blue roared around he screamed as he burned. It was like the raw heat of the sum had been spilled into his veins, and his translucent fingers raked at his own cheeks as he fell to his knees. _Godmother, it burns._ Wispy trails of spectral blood poured from him as he writhed in the sea of flames, and he shrieked in anguish.

Hell. He was in hell again. The thought came to him through the fog of pain, and he wanted to laugh through his screams. Of course. Of course it would be hell again. It was what he deserved. _It burns, but I'm a soul. I'm going to burn forever._ The fire coursed against the bare edges of his soul, ripping and shredding and scorching, and he wailed.

With a rattling breath, his corpse sucked in a breath and he jerked back to himself. Cornelius gasped for breath, his body swinging wildly as he thrashed. _It burned. Godmother, it burned. It was hellfire. Pure hellfire._ He grasped the rope and swung, drawing himself up by his arms until he was upside down. Hooking his legs around the rafters, he sighed as the noose loosened enough for him to grasp a knife from his belt and cut himself free.

Another attempt. Another failure. In a swift motion, he drew his knife across his forearm, adding a fourth cut to the growing tally he'd kept since his first beginning. Blood spilled across his arm, but he dismissed the sting with not so much as a second thought. There was work to do. One day, he would die, but until that day came… until he found a method that would work, he had work to do.

Grasping his bow, he slung it over his shoulder before glimpsing across the hovel he'd taken to calling a home. It was a decrepit and rundown cottage in the woods outside Enchancia, missing half its roof, and there was moss growing across the splintered walls. His bed was a pile of stolen cloaks and rags, and the only furnishings he had was a rickety chair, a small table, and a stool that was missing two of its legs.

He shook his head. It was better than he deserved. The weight of his sins were crushing upon his shoulders as he slunk into the woods, pulling his hood low to obscure his shaggy mop of blond hair. Even in the dim light of the moon, it would draw too much attention in the dark woods.

The main road would be too dangerous tonight, not now that Lady Sofia had tripled her patrols in the wake of his raids. Yet, the harbor of Enchancia was the key point of access into Eléadoré, and almost every noble in the kingdom had to make their way through if they wished to reach the capital. DiFortunato had been the straw that broke the camel's back, however, and he had known the risk he was taking to take out someone so high up in Tremaine's hierarchy… but he couldn't resist.

Silently stepping through the trees, he drew an arrow from his quiver at the rattling of a carriage. _So soon._ He grinned as he drew close to the winding road—a detour twice as long as the main road but that had been seeing much more use now that he was picking off any noble who dared to stray into his haunt—and his fingers tensed at the sight of the coat of arms. Two ears of golden corn crossed over a blue field, and he knew them by sight if not by name. He had seen soldiers carrying those arms during the Battle of Sommersea, when his father had died. _Nick would know. He knows all the lordly houses of the world by heart._ Memories of his cousin stung at his mind, and he shook himself to dismiss them.

He had failed Nick as well, and he didn't deserve to even think of his cousin, let alone wish he was here.

Nocking the arrow into his bow, he took careful aim as the first guardsman came into view. Pursing his lips, he pulled back the draw string, and with a sharp twang, he released it. The arrow whipped through the air and caught the soldier in the eye, but by the time he had fallen from his horse, Cornelius had already fired two more. The guards dropped like flies, and the carriage came to a sudden halt as the driver slumped in his seat, an arrow sticking out of his throat.

With grim determination, Cornelius emerged from the trees once the last of the guards had fallen. For some reason, the lord inside the carriage had not yet emerged to investigate, and he wondered if it was a craven, hoping that their vehicle would keep them safe. _It wouldn't._ Cornelius shoved his knife into the gap between the door, breaking the lock, and he ripped open the carriage before coming to a jerking halt.

"Mercy," screamed the lordling, pulling away from him and wrapping his arms and legs around himself so tightly that Cornelius feared they'd never come untangled. The boy couldn't be older than fourteen at most, gangly and freckled, with a crop of spots beneath his brunet cowlick.

"Mercy?" asked Cornelius, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Please," the lordling pleaded. "Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please."

Cornelius blinked. The boy seemed to be rather overwrought. A memory flickered to him of Alyssa and how fearless she had been at that age, and he fought down the urge to scoff at the lordling shivering in front of him. One would think he'd never seen a knife before… but that couldn't be right. There'd been so many knives during the war, and the coat of arms upon this boy's tabard had flown across the bloody battlefields along with half-a-hundred others.

"You sent troops into Corona," he said with a shrug. "Why?"

"I didn't! I didn't! I didn't!" The Lordling looked up, tears streaming down his long face. "Queen Tremaine ordered my father to provide troops, and he obeyed. He died in Corona. He died there. He died. I didn't do _anything._ Please. Please. Please. Plea—"

The last word twisted into a strangled gurgle as blood blossomed from the boy's mouth, and Cornelius yanked his knife free from where he'd buried it in the lordling's throat. Cocking his head to the side, he watched as the boy jerked, bloody froth bubbling from between his lips as red gushed from the hole in his neck, and it was mere seconds later before he was still, the ghost of his terror etched upon his face.

"There is no such thing as innocence," said Cornelius, reaching out to shut the lordling's eyes. "Only degrees of guilt."

* * *

"After all you did to secure the throne, do you think it's wise for you to come with us?" asked Nick, not for the first time wondering if his best friend was being rather rash in her decision-making. His own absence from Arendelle was something he could ensure went smoothly. With the truth of his parentage now out in the open, there was nobody in Arendelle who would dare move against the son of a Guardian. _Even now you're gone, Dad, you're still looking out for me._ Aunt Anna was a skilled stateswoman as well, someone who had served as the right hand to both his mother and himself, and the regency was secure in her hands.

Corona and Amoré on the other hand… Alyssa was feared, not loved, and she was outright hated in a great many parts of her kingdom. She had ensured there would be no open rebellion by opting to rule in Flynn's name, but Nick was not an idiot. There were almost a dozen things or more that could go wrong in her absence.

"What good will it be if I keep my throne only for us all to be slaughtered when Pitch returns," she countered. "My priorities are in order, Nick. My children, the world, my kingdom, myself. Besides, the Knights of Amoré and Solidor's own forces will be enough to maintain order, and thanks to Bryn's mirrors, I'll be able to keep abreast of things while I travel."

"You certainly seem to have it all figured out," he replied. In a way, he couldn't deny that the promise of a quest had lit a fire in Alyssa, one that had been a bare ember since the loss of Cor. He closed his eyes. No. Now was not the time to dwell on his errant cousin.

The conversation ebbed at his words, and he glanced around the study in the hopes of finding something that would distract him. The Queen's Solar was a distinctly Amoréan place within the heart of Corona, truth be told, with cream coloured walls and cherrywood furniture. The rose motif was clear, from the golden roses stamped upon the single wall, to the jewelled roses on display. The door-knocker was a rose, as were the hooks beside the burgundy curtains. Alyssa had clearly been rather zealous to capture a sense of her homeland within her space, and he idly wondered if her bedroom had received similar ministrations.

He glanced around the room, and it sunk in that the sun of Corona was noticeable only by its absence. Nick bit his lip, not wanting to dwell on it—even if it looked as though Alyssa was trying to erase any and all traces of Cor from her personal space.

"No sunbursts," he blurted out, and as soon as the words left his lips, he wanted to kick himself. "Sorry. It just came out."

"They distract me," she replied, her voice growing somewhat strained. "When I'm in my study, I need to focus on work."

"Pushing things down only makes it worse when you actually decide to finally face it, Alyssa," he said, shaking his head. "I know it hurts, but—"

"You know what it's like to wake up in the morning and find your true love gone with only a note left in his place?" she asked in a steely voice. " _You're a better queen than I'll ever be a king._ His last words to me, you see. Written on a scrap of paper and left on his pillow before he rode off like a thief in the night. You know what it's like to be so devastated and emotional that your water breaks early? That your children are born before their due time and you spend your labor agonising over whether or not they'll make it? He wasn't there for that either, you know. _You_ were the first man to hold Flynn and Isabella. Not their father. Their uncle."

"Alyssa…"

"I had an hour to recover from childbirth before having to attend a council meeting because Corona was tethering on the brink of collapse," she continued as if she hadn't heard him. "The Godmother alone knows how I managed to not collapse. Later, it was Morgan who flew over every few days to spend time with the twins and give me a few hours to sleep. Morgan. Not their father. Their uncle's boyfriend."

She sucked in a deep breath, and the quill in her hands snapped. Ink sprayed across her parchment, and she glared before tossing it aside. Her wedding ring seemed to gleam in the candlelight, and when she looked up, there was an amber glint to her eyes.

"Do you know there are nights when I wish that he had died in Corona?" she asked. "It's an absolutely awful thing to admit, I know, but it's the truth. It would easier to mourn for him if he was dead, because it would be a lot better than knowing that he's _alive,_ and that he's not here because he chooses not to be here. Whatever happened to always and forever, Nick?"

"We were different people when we made that promise to each other, Alyssa." Nick sighed. "Children, really. I was a moody, closeted teenager who feared I'd never be happy, Cornelius didn't have a care in the world because he'd been raised on sunshine, and you were a princess who wore your heart upon your sleeve. None of us knew what was coming."

He blamed Cornelius more than anyone, but hearing the words come spilling from _Alyssa's_ mouth stung like knives. He'd officiated their wedding, and he'd been there when they'd risked it all for love. He knew, better than most, what it was that lay between them, and to hear her wish that _Cor_ was dead...

Nick couldn't help but want to defend his cousin, even if a part of him agreed with what Alyssa was saying.

"Yes. We were." Alyssa's laugh was bitter. Reaching out, she grasped her decanter and filled two glasses to the brim before pushing the wine towards him. Without waiting for him to take a sip, she'd brought her cup to her lips and drained the rich red liquid in a single gulp. "Naive children who believed in fairy tales and a happily ever after."

"What are we fighting for if not a happily ever after?" asked Nick, raising an eyebrow.

"An after," replied Alyssa in a grim voice. "That's the best most of us can look forward to after all this misery."

* * *

"I honestly can't say I'm surprised," said King Eric, a knowing look in his eyes as he looked up from his paperwork. "As much as you're your mother's son, there's more of me in you than either of us have ever cared to admit."

Caspian blinked in surprise. As hard as he'd once tried to emulate his father—from dyeing his hair black to favouring curved swords over the traditional merfolk spears and lances—he'd never really been like King Eric. He was not a hero, for one, and for another, he hadn't lived the most dignified of lifestyles growing up. Caspian knew that his father had been a carefree prince, but… Aquitania had always come before his own pleasures, which was something he could not say for himself.

"I… I don't think," he began, but King Eric shook his head.

"I was an incredibly reckless man when I was your age," said King Eric. He coughed, and when he drew away from his mouth, Caspian did not miss the fresh flecks of red staining the white. "Always chasing a new horizon. I was supposed to be a prince and stay in my castle, but who could resist the call of the sea?" A faint chuckle escaped his lips, and he shook his head. "It would have led me to an early and watery grave had it not been for your mother."

Caspian bit his lip. His parents never talked about their youths, and all Aquaria and he knew was what they had gleaned from Flounder and Sebastian, but he'd always wanted to ask. It was just… difficult. Even though it had been over two decades, the ghost of Melody hung between the monarchs his parents had become and the people they once were, casting a pall over any attempts at reminiscing.

It had been that way since he'd been a child—and he'd accepted it, but hearing his father speak like this was bringing all the unanswered questions rushing back to the surface.

"I suppose you could say that our first kiss was the kiss of life," continued King Eric. "Your mother found me washed up on the shore, and she breathed air back into my lungs. As interesting a first meeting as it was, she fled before I awakened, and all I had of her was her song."

"Why… why are you bringing this up now?" Caspian asked. He didn't mind hearing about his parents' youth, but there had to be a reason? There had to be a reason why his father wasn't mad at him for wanting to leave _again,_ so soon after he'd returned. There just had to be.

"I don't expect to have much time left," said Eric with a wan smile. "My illness is getting worse. There are days when I can barely get out of bed because of the pain in my stomach, like crabs pinching away with pincers sharp as knives. I'd rather speak my mind without any ruses or secrets for once."

"You're strong, Father," said Caspian, wincing at the reminder of his father's illness. "You have a lot… lot of fight left in you. I know it."

"Now you sound like your mother." Eric shook his head, a wistful look on his face. "All those years we spent apart for duty, and in the end, the only thing I truly want now is another day with her." He looked up, his expression falling slightly, and he shook his head again. "We're getting off topic. Are you sure you're well enough to travel?"

"I'm… I'm fine," said Caspian with a nod. "I'll manage. Lucile needs me."

"Cas, I'm not going to pretend that I know what it was like for you in Hamelin, but I have never felt as big a failure as I did on the night you told me what happened." Eric looked stricken, shifting in his seat. "My son, my only son, and I couldn't protect him from that monster. You still have trouble with your arm. I still hear you tossing and turning at night when I pass your room. It… are you sure?"

"Please. Let's… let's not… not talk… talk about… about it." Caspian squirmed at the bitter memories. Those hands upon his skin, the popping of his right shoulder every night as Damon pinned him to the bed, the blood… so much blood. The knives and the screws and the peelers, the poker and the poisons. His breathing was growing ragged, and he shook his head. _No. Breathe._ He clenched his hand into his thigh, his nails digging into his scales through his trousers, and the sharp sting was enough to bring him back to reality.

He was in his father's study. They were discussing his leaving for Enchancia with Lucile. Damon was dead.

"I'm sorry." King Eric shook his head. He rose from his seat, and Caspian flinched as his father pulled him into an embrace. _It's my dad. It's just my dad. It's okay. It's okay._ Slowly, he relaxed into the hug, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember the last time either of his parents had hugged him like this.

"I'm sure," said Caspian. "I just… just can't not go. If anything happened to her, and I… I was here, but I… I could have stopped it by… by being there. I'd never… never forgive myself."

"Then go with my blessing, but promise me that you will return in one piece," said his Father.

"Don't I… I always come home in the end?" he asked.

Against all odds, his father chuckled. The sound sent a jolt of warmth down his fine, and as the hug ended, he shifted, rolling his shoulder. It had been accidental, but the hug had hurt his arm a little, not that he cared to admit it out loud. The flicker of pain had been worth being embraced by his father with such… warmth.

"And that is precisely why, despite everything, you always remained as my heir," said Eric with a fond smile. "You run off on adventures, you disappear for weeks at a time, usually with some harlot or other, but _you always find your way back home."_

* * *

"He's a handful, isn't he?" noted Lucile, raising a delicate eyebrow at the tiny typhoon that was her boyfriend's nephew. Ephraim Ababwa was perhaps the wildest child she had ever met, and he'd wasted absolutely no time in transforming Caspian's private lounge into a messy hellscape. Somehow, he'd found his way into the lower cabinets, and the contents of them were now strewn about the room.

Currently, the little devil had found himself one of the spare tablecloths, and he'd immediately set to work trying to make a tent. This was accomplished through the use of every cushion from the loveseat and armchairs, the flowers from the vase atop the coffee-table, and a small bucket of toys raided from the playroom that had once been used by his mother and uncle.

A thought occurred to her, and she immediately turned to Aquaria with a flicker of horror appearing in her eyes. "Please tell me he doesn't get his hyperactivity from your side of the family."

Aquaria chuckled into her tea, mirth glimmering in her eyes as she set down the cup. It was rather odd for the two of them to be sitting at the small dining table and enjoying a dainty lunch whilst the room went to pieces around them, but she had quickly learned that such things were considered normal when it came to parenting young children who happened to consider an elderly tiger as their best friend.

"He gets it from his father," said Aquaria. "Why? Have you been giving much thought to children recently?"

"No!" Lucile spluttered, her cheeks growing red. "We haven't even… I mean, you know…" She spluttered, turning away to hide her growing embarrassment. Drawing on the years of etiquette training she'd undertaken as a child, she quickly composed herself before continuing. "I have no idea as to what the future holds for Cas and I, Aquaria, but I can perhaps see children as a possibility in the distant future."

"In which case, you'd be in luck." Aquaria grinned. "My brother could give Ali a run for his money when it came to getting into trouble."

"It's… it's rude to gossip, Aquaria," said Caspian, and Lucile looked up with a smile as her boyfriend walked into the room. He spared an unimpressed glance around the devastation before narrowing his eyes at his sister, giving her a look that Lucile instantly took to mean: _You're going to be cleaning this up._

Before either of them could reply to him, however, Ephraim stuck his head out of his tent at the new voice in the room. Delight burst across his features as he hopped to his feet and in a strange half-totter, half-run, he rushed towards Caspian and wound his arms around her boyfriend's shins.

"Ian!" he exclaimed before exploding into an unintelligible string of youthful gibberish, and Caspian rolled his eyes before bending over to scoop him up with his left arm before making his way towards the table.

Lucile's smile grew as she watched the two of them, and she shared a quick, knowing look with Aquaria. The older woman winked, and Lucile masked a chuckle before turning back towards her boyfriend and his nephew. It was sweet, she thought, how Caspian was always so at ease with the boy—oftentimes more at ease with Ephraim than he was with her—and how he never so much as flinched when being touched by the toddler.

"I still can't believe he learned to say your name before either Mummy or Daddy," said Aquaria, rolling her eyes. "The little traitor. He still refers to Ali as Dada."

"Clearly, he… he likes me more," said Caspian. Twining his good arm around Ephraim's chest, he swung the boy around to a small explosion of giggles before setting him down. Tousling his mop of black hair, Caspian watched him rush off in the direction of his tent before taking a seat beside them at the table and reaching for a sandwich. "What brings the two of… of you to Aquitania?"

"Father let me know that you and Lucile are embarking on a voyage to Eléadoré tomorrow, so I thought we'd come to see you off on Carpet," replied Aquaria with a shrug. "Those magic mirrors from Arendelle are delightful. I really don't know how we managed without them for so long."

"They do make communication easier than sending letters," said Lucile. Beneath the table, her fingers twined with Caspian's. For a second, he stiffened before relaxing, and when she glanced at his face, he wore a small smile.

"Indeed," said Aquaria. "I suppose having Maleficent amongst our ranks is useful for something after all." She turned to her brother. "Ali sends his regards, by the way, and says that you better get yourself back in one piece in time for Ephraim's birthday. He'd have come, but princely duties."

"Wouldn't miss… miss it for the world," replied Caspian.

The afternoon passed in pleasant conversation, ending only when it was discovered that Ephraim had made the executive decision that his makeshift tent was the appropriate place for a nap. Lucile couldn't help but smile as she watched Aquaria lift the sleeping boy into her arms and, after promising that she'd return to see to the mess once she was sure he was asleep, left in the direction of her quarters. Her smile grew as Caspian folded his arms around her waist, taking a deep breath to steady himself before giving her a brief peck on the cheek.

"I've finally gotten a chance to… to see my new ship," he murmured. "It isn't _Stormbringer,_ and this is… is going to be its maiden voyage, but I think it's a very nice ship all the same. It's doubled decked. There are oars for… for days when there's no wind, and our cabin's rather spacious. I think it… it steers well, but I can't do… do that this time, not with my… my arm."

"Cas," she interrupted. "I don't know a thing about ships, so I'm just going to take your word for it."

"I was thinking of… of a name," he added, nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

"A name?" Lucile raised an eyebrow at that. All ships had names, and she was rather intrigued to learn what Caspian had decided to name his new ship. Perhaps he could call it _Stormbringer II,_ she thought. His old vessel had been rather sleek, and she'd quite liked the name.

"Yes," he said. "What do you think of _Stormcrow_?"

" _Stormcrow_?" asked Lucile in confusion.

"After… after us," he said, nodding his head. "You like crows and I… I control storms, so… so _Stormcrow?_ "

That was… rather sweet, she thought. Biting her lip, she shifted around so that she was facing him. He looked rather nervous, a faint blush colouring his freckled cheeks, almost as though he was waiting for her to shoot down the name. Reaching up to cup his cheek, she leaned in for a kiss. He stilled, his hands trembling at her sides as he reciprocated.

As always, his kisses tasted like the salt breeze upon the sea, and the apprehension in his features seemed to melt.

"I think it's lovely, Cas," she said, fighting the urge to laugh at the sheer delight in his eyes.

Her boyfriend had a stormy past, and he wasn't a saint. There were a dozen broken pieces still being put back together. He liked puns far too much, and she was one of the few people in the world who could touch him without causing him to flinch. There were nights when he slept fitfully, tossing and turning until he was tangled in their sheets, and there had been nights when his terrors had grown so bad that he'd fallen out of bed. Despite everything, it was moments like these that reminded her of all the sweet beneath the salt.

Caspian was a lanky mess of freckles and scars, but in the end, he was hers, and Lucile wouldn't change him for the world.


	57. The Colours of the Wind

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty**

 **The Colours of the Wind**

* * *

The village was a strange collection of cone-shaped tents and sunken fire pits, but the people were stranger still. Christopher did not consider himself to be a well-travelled individual, but he'd visited a fair few places in his time. His home in Renvale was elegance and white stone, with ivy creeping upon the walls and the scent of daffodils filling the air. His robins had sung to him each morning and nested beneath the sill of his bedroom window.

He'd visited Somnia and Eléadoré in his youth: one had been grim and foreboding, a place of might and severity, and the other had been warm, all pastel colors and chivalry. Christopher had not seen much of Amoré before the curse had taken it, but he remembered Rossotorrez Castle for its rose gardens and ponds. Aquitania on the other hand, was a city that embraced the sea with its dozens of canals and white sand beaches, though if he was to pick the one place that had felt most like home, it would be the creamy-gold sandstone and vibrant silks of Agrabah.

This kingdom—if one used the term loosely—was nothing like what he'd encountered before. It was rustic and natural, all wood and canvas rather than hewn stone, and he rather liked it. There was a sense of serenity in the village that made him feel oddly at ease, but he knew he couldn't let down his guard. The queen—again, if one used the term loosely—Pocahontas, seemed nice enough, though her children were rather unwelcoming, but the people were open and welcoming. When Jian and he had first been led here, they'd been given food and one of the tripodal tents to share, and they'd been given a change of clothes as well.

Christopher didn't know what to make of the moccasin and buckskin pants, but they were rather comfortable, and while the lack of a shirt was slightly concerning, the weather was warm enough that he didn't mind not having one. He was rather grateful for the clothes, even if they weren't what he was accustomed to—his tunic and breeches had rotted away in the hold of the Black Pearl, and they'd been in salt-crusted shreds on the beach, just barely held together by a few loose threads and a few whispered prayers.

"You look troubled," said a voice, and he started in surprise as Pocahontas came to sit beside him.

"Troubled might not be the right world, but I'm just… thinking," he admitted. Something told him that it was not in his best interest to lie to this woman. "A week ago, I didn't even know that there were people in the Undiscovered Lands, and a month ago, my only concern was getting to DunBroch to speak to Queen Merida. I'm just trying to… I don't even know anymore."

He sighed. The truth was that he really didn't know. In Corona, he'd had a plan, even if it had been a barebones one. _Life happens when you let it._ Well, he'd done just that, and life had flung him half-a-world away from where he needed to be. A sharp crack echoed through his memory, and he winced at the phantom sting of the quartermaster's whip. Life, he'd learned, didn't seem to like him all that much.

"You made a decision," replied Pocahontas, not unkindly. "Your decision led you here. That is all that matters in the grand scheme of things."

"In all honesty, it was probably the worst decision of my life," he replied. "I, well, was in a very dark place, and I…" He trailed off, biting his lip. In retrospect, his decision to leave without Jessica was the height of foolishness, especially in the way that he had. If he could, he'd punch himself in the face for behaving in such a callous manner, and then he'd punch himself again for choosing to travel without a companion.

The road was always dangerous, but it was safer when there was company. He'd learned that in Amoré when he'd helped Ali defeat Gaston, and again in Corona when Jessica and Margaret had helped him fight the Mirror Men. _Margaret._ His sister had died standing at his side… It was what had led him to pushing Jessica away. He couldn't have her blood on his hands as well. He just couldn't.

Yet, there hadn't been a day that had passed since boarding that forsaken ship that he hadn't regretted the way he'd left things.

"Who can say where the road goes when you haven't yet reached the end?" asked Pocahontas, shaking her head. She grasped a wooden bowl from beside the log. Holding it before him, she filled it with water from a skin, and kept it still before him. Slowly, Pocahontas dipped her finger into the still water before raising it, letting a single droplet fall.

"A single droplet falls," she said, "and the ripples expand to the very edges of the water. Every choice is a droplet, and with it comes the ripples."

 _Well, that was very unhelpful,_ thought Christopher, not in the slightest bit impressed by the visual display and the fanciful talks. He missed Ali—his best-friend was an incredibly straightforward person—and honestly, even the Godmother hadn't spoken in such riddles when she'd given him his gift over dreams.

He was snapped from his reverie and mercifully spared the need to answer, however, by the timely intervention of Jian. His travelling companion was yelling, and there was a sharp thud that sounded like something had been kicked, and Christopher winced at the loud swearing that followed. Across from him, Pocahontas seemed amused, and he turned to see Jian hobbling out of the woods with a foul expression on his face.

"Your friend does not like it here," she noted.

"I can't hear the spirits," hollered the friend in question as he came to sit beside Christopher, his scowl deepening as he massaged his foot. "It's like they're not even there. I've been meditating for _hours_ and nothi—"

Jian paused, frowning as he seemed to take notice of Pocahontas for the first time, and he snorted. With a dull glare that confused Christopher, Jian turned away and busied himself with staring up at the sky as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. _Well, that was really rude._

"So you decided to kick something?" asked Christopher, hoping it would be enough to break the tension. "Now I'm rather new to meditation, but I understand it's supposed to calm you down?"

"I'm completely calm!" Jian snapped, a vein visibly throbbing in his temple.

"What did you kick, then? A tree?" Despite everything, Christopher was finding it very hard not to laugh right now.

"A rock." Jian shook his head. "Don't you dare say it."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Christopher pinched himself to keep from laughing. How Jian had managed to become a leader of the military he would never know, because it was very clear that the man did not have the best control over his temper.

"I fear that neither of you will have much luck using your abilities in this land," interjected Pocahontas, and Christopher snapped around, his mirth fading at the sudden shift in conversation. "Tsar Luna has no power in this land."

Christopher gaped, unsure as to how to respond to that, and at his side, Jian seemed to have turned to stone in surprise. _Tsar Luna has no power here? How?_ Was that even possible? More to the point, what did it have to do with him? His Dreamtouch was his own, and it had been given to him by the Fairy Godmother.

"Yes," continued Pocahontas, her tone as light as if she was discussing the weather. "All the lands shadowed by Grandmother Willow's boughs are protected from—"

"The World Tree," interrupted Jian, an accusatory note in his voice. "That's why I can't hear the ancestral spirits. Godmother above, but this is just fantastic. We're hundreds of leagues from home with no way of getting back, and to top it off, we're under the shade of the World Tree."

"I am very confused," said Christopher. "Like, really confused."

"You're a very sorry excuse for a magic user, you know that, right?" Jian's annoyance seemed to be growing, and Christopher was vaguely worried that he may well be on the receiving end of a harsh smack soon enough.

"Well, excuse me, but not all of us got expert tutors from the time we were old enough to walk, and I'm doing the bes—"

"I am sure that you can bicker when I am done speaking," interrupted Pocahontas, and her voice was stern. With a billowing whoosh, the wind grew around them, growing from a faint breeze until it was strong enough to bend the highest branches of the nearby trees.

Christopher stilled at once, the wind tousling his hair, and he did not miss the almost wolf-like glint in the woman's eyes. _Our powers are nullified here. Hers are not._ Beside him, Jian opened his mouth to argue further, and Christopher nudged him sharply in the side with his elbow.

"Shut up and listen," he hissed, and perhaps life did not hate him quite so much as he assumed it did, because Jian mercifully fell silent, though not without shooting him a furious glare. Not that Christopher was all that bothered, because the wind was already beginning to calm down, and Pocahontas seemed to be relaxing back into her seat.

"These lands are protected from the influence of Tsar Luna, and that includes the powers and gifts of those who are empowered by him," said Pocahontas, speaking as if the interruption had never happened. "Fairy magic, Guardian magic, Ancestral magic… the list does drag on, but trying to use your brands of magic here are efforts in sheer futility." She smiled, thought the expression did not reach her eyes. "Yet, the fight with Pitch Black concerns us as well. These are dangerous times we live in."

She paused to take a breath, and the flames spluttered at her words, throwing up sparks a dozen feet into the air. They swirled and danced around them, caught by the breeze. With a sigh, Pocahontas climbed to her feet. For the first time, Christopher noticed that her hair seemed to flow around her as though caught by the wind, though it was moving against the direction of the actual wind. Narrowing his eyes, he focused, and to his surprise, he caught sight of tiny feathers, miniscule leaves, and flecks of dust swirling between her hair, trailing close to her ear before being blown away. _Odd,_ he thought. _Very odd._

"Grandmother Willow insists that you have a role left to play in this war," she said, looking Christopher directly in the eye. "Rest well tonight, for I will be taking you to her tomorrow."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked off into the camp, leaving Christopher blinking after her. If anything, he was more confused now than he'd been in the beginning. _Why him?_ What role did he really have left to play other than trying to win back his kingdom? That was certainly a role, he decided, but did it really matter that much? He didn't think so. Also, he'd gathered that this Grandmother Willow was a tree rather than the elderly wisewoman he'd pictured, and he was rather concerned that a _tree_ wanted to speak to him. He didn't even speak _tree._

He frowned. Did trees even have a language?

"Excuse me, but do I not have a role in the war?" Jian asked, sounding offended that he'd not been invited to the tree meeting.

"I suppose this tree-lady wants us to actually stand a chance at winning," replied Christopher, unable to resist the joke. The shadow of a grin spread across his lips as, sure enough, Jian punched him in the shoulder, already sucking in a breath to no doubt make a retort of his own.

* * *

Honestly, Neverland wasn't quite so bad once she got used to it.

It had been a little under a week since Margaret had moved in, and the small bungalow she'd read into existence looked rather nice upon the beach—no matter how much Nibs complained that it was an ostentatious eyesore—with its pale-pink walls and lilac shingles. It was a rather simple affair with four bedrooms, three of which she'd turned into closets, two bathrooms, a large kitchen, and three living rooms. If she'd had her way entirely, she'd have put a swimming pool into the backyard, but Nibs—pesky rabbit-eared uncouth thing that he was—had complained that she had an actual beach not ten feet from her front door, and she'd had no choice but to agree.

Honestly, it was almost as though he'd expected her to move into that rustic tree he lived in, and _no._ Margaret was a princess, albeit a dead one who'd been raised by a machiavellian immortal, and she would not sleep in a hammock, nor would she suffer the presence of a dozen Lost Boys. She'd made a great many sacrifices already, her swimming pool chief amongst them, but living in that rowdy mess… Margaret shuddered at the mere thought. Her mother may have once lived with seven strange dwarves in the woods, but it had already been made perfectly clear that her mother did not make the best life choices.

Perched upon an armchair on her balcony, Margaret perused her Omnicron in search of a tale she hadn't yet read. The pages were endless, she'd learned, for her enchanted book contained every story in creation, some real and some fictional, and all it took to bring them to life was her voice. It was a powerful artefact, she reasoned, one that she likely didn't deserve—the ways of Tsar Luna were mysterious and vexing in equal measure, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she had truly been the one who should have been raised. It was Christopher who was the storyteller, the boy who lived his life lost in his own dreams, spending all his time in his wing of the palace with his sketchpad and an unfocused look in his eyes.

Margaret winced at the memories. Their childhood had not been the easiest, not with their mother being the ambitious and grasping woman she was, and she'd envied the ease with which her brother had been able to hide away within his own mind. She missed him as well. Save for their brief reunion in Corona before her death, they had been apart for over a year as far as he was concerned, though it was closer to four for her. As children, they'd bickered and they'd fought, and they'd never been the closest siblings in the world… but he'd always been there nonetheless. Whenever she'd needed him, she'd always known where to find him, just as she'd always known he'd be there with his toys, ready to cheer her up in whatever way he could.

 _He's fine,_ she thought to herself. Nibs had assured her that, based on all the available evidence, there was only one place in all of creation that her brother could have stumbled into. It would be okay. If it was up to her, she'd have left as soon as she'd learned of the place, but both Alice and Nibs had warned her that it was impossible until proper plans had been made. _Nibs is working on it._ She bit her lip. Nibs was a ragamuffin, but she did trust him, if only because he was unequivocally on their side in the fight against Pitch Black.

"Hello."

Margaret nearly jumped out of her seat, her reverie broken, and she whirled. Nibs leaned against the balcony doors, a grin on his face, his ears twitching. Pinching herself to steady her breathing, she glared as she closed the Omnicron and slid it back into her holster.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him as he strode onto the balcony and plopped himself down upon the nearest chair.

"I did knock," he replied with a shrug. "You didn't answer."

"What if I'd been indecent?" she snapped. "Nibs, you cannot just waltz into a person's house without an invitation. It's very rude."

"I'm glad you're not indecent," replied Nibs with a wink. "I'd have to stab out my eyes to get the sight out of my mind, and I rather like being able to see. As to your second point, _your_ monstrosity of a house is on _my_ beach."

"You are an uncouth rapscallion," she announced, not liking the imperfect logic he was using nor the implication that her indecency would be a cause for self-mutilation. She sniffled. "Where you birthed in a barn, by any chance?"

"In a palace, actually." He grinned, and she blinked, not liking that look in the slightest.

"I suppose the castle servants do have babies," she acknowledged.

Idly, Margaret remembered that Geraldine, the head cook in Renvale, had been pregnant before Regina had taken over. The child would be a year or two old by now, if Geraldine had survived. She bit her lip, pushing such thoughts away. There was nothing she could do for Renvale, not now, not when her intervention would draw the ire of Tsar Luna and result in her being blasted into a pile of stardust and smoking goose-feathers.

"Excuse me, but I am very much a prince," said Nibs. He wagged a finger in her direction. "An unwanted prince, granted, from a kingdom that hasn't existed for a few thousand years, but I'm a prince all the same."

"You're a prince?" Margaret couldn't keep the incredulity from her voice. Nibs? A prince? No, she must have heard him wrong. Nibs? Rabbit-eared, uncouth, scrawny, rude Nibs? No. it couldn't be. The sandy-haired youth in front of her had to be joking, or else trying to trick her in some way. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." He grinned.

The world must be going mad, Margaret decided, as she stared at him, her jaw hanging agape. She had met a great many princes in her life, and yes, there were a few colourful characters—ahem, she thought, Ali—and a few unorthodox ones as well, but this… whatever it was that Nibs was….

Honestly, she had never before been struck so speechless.

"You can quit looking at me like that," he continued with a shrug. "I would think that being the right-hand of Peter Pan was a lot more impressive than being born of a royal bloodline."

"Yes… well." Margaret blinked before looking away, realizing that it was rather rude to stare at someone in the way that she had. Pursing her lips, she allowed a brief mental battle to be waged in her mind: one half of her was brimming with curiosity, and the other wanted to scrub this entire conversation from her mind so that she could return to her Omnicron. "What was your home like?"

"Neverland is my home," said Nibs with an air of finality. "Because some king may have been my father, but Peter was my dad."

Once again, Margaret didn't know how to reply to that, so she merely nodded before turning to gaze out across the starry sea. There was a story there, but she had already searched through all the tales of Peter Pan and Rumpelstiltskin in her Omnicron, and there'd been no mention of Nibs. A part of her wanted to ask, to know more, but there was something about his last response that stopped her from pressing. He'd already been more open about himself than she'd have expected given that they were still very much strangers who'd been brought together by happenstance and tragedy in the war against Pitch Black, and… She sniffled, realizing that she was allowing a shred of sentimentality to stain her thoughts. Nibs' story likely didn't matter anyway, and it probably wasn't all that impressive.

If it was, he'd have spoken up, because in her experience, people didn't hide the impressive parts of themselves away.

"Why have you bothered me today, Nibs?" she asked finally, deciding to steer their conversation back to safer topics.

"To tell you to start packing," he replied nonchalantly. "Unless you don't want to help rescue your brother."

She blinked. Slowly, very slowly, she rose from her seat and drew the Omnicron from her belt. She turned towards him, and she took one slow, methodical step after another, ignoring the flicker of nervousness in his eyes. Raising the Omnicron, she brought it down upon his shoulder with as much force as she could.

"What was that for, you bloody lunatic?" he yelped, jerking away from her as she brought down the book a second time, this time catching him across his back.

"You." She hit him. "Rabbity." She hit him. "Idiot." She hit him. "How dare you—" She hit him. "—come in here and beat around the bush—" She hit him, cracking her Omnicron across his scrawny arse and causing him to hop in pain. "—when you have news of my brother, when you know how important he is to me, and instead of getting right to it, you blather on about—"

She raised the book to whack him again, but for the first time since she'd begun, he stopped her. His long fingers closed around her wrist like a vice, and he was surprisingly strong given how slight of stature she was. With a glare, he shook his head.

"It was funny the first time, amusing the second time, and it lost whatever charm it had by the third," he said, and there was a chill in his eyes that had not been there before. "Hit me like that one more time, and I'll cast you out of here and let you take your chances with Tsar Luna."

"Excuse me, but you—"

"No." He silenced her with his tone, and a shiver ran down her spine. "I am not lesser than you, Princess. I am not your punching bag. I am not someone you get to look down on and treat however you want. We're allies who share a common goal. That is all. Never mistake my tolerance of your rudeness for weakness, and don't think it's an invitation to treat me as you please, you got that?"

She blinked before nodding. _I was kidding._ Well, she hadn't even hit him that hard, and she'd just been trying to make her point, but he was genuinely furious with her all the same. _It served him right for not telling me immediately._ Somehow, the excuse wasn't holding up in her mind in the face of his glare. Anger didn't suit him, she thought. He looked so much better with a grin.

"I apologise," she said in a stiff tone. "That was wrong of me."

Nibs released her, and she stumbled back as her hand came loose. For a second, it looked as though he was going to say more before he shook his head. Turning away from her, he strode away, and Margaret winced as she noticed how gingerly he was walking. _Surely I didn't hit him that hard?_ She remembered hitting Christopher with more force when they'd been squabbling children, and he'd always laughed her off. _You weren't a Guardian then,_ a voice whispered, and she bit her lip at the thought. Did she even know her own strength? She couldn't have hit him that hard.

"Nibs," she called out, unable to stop herself. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I didn't think. I'm sorry."

He paused, and he shook his head again, not turning back to look at her.

"Next time, think," he retorted. "We leave at dawn."

And, with that, he limped off without another word.

* * *

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"I'll be fine," she replied.

Alyssa looked up from her seat beside the fire with a faint smile on her face, and without replying, she patted the sand beside her. To her immense relief, Nick sank down next to her, folding his long legs beneath him. Of their trio—Cor, Nick, and herself—he had always been the tallest, but his latest growth spurt had turned him into something of a beanstalk. _He'd look good if he wasn't so skinny,_ she thought, because currently, he looked almost stretched. Her best friend had always been a lean person, but he'd lost weight since being crowned—not that she blamed him, given everything—and now that he'd finally reached what she assumed was his full height, he just looked unhealthy.

"Where's Morgan?" she asked, for the first time noticing that there was no sign of the dragon. It was a rare thing indeed for her best friend and his boyfriend to be apart these days. Idly, she wondered if this was what it had been like for Nick when she'd begun her romance with Cornelius.

She winced. Thinking about Cor made her angry and sad in equal measure, and she forced the thoughts from her mind. Almost instinctively, she reached out and hooked her arm with Nick's, leaning against her shoulder. She'd lost her true love, but she still had Nick, her best friend. Warmth was never something she'd associate with the King of Arendelle, but he was comforting all the same.

"Hunting," replied Nick with a faint smile. "He needs to fuel up for the flight across the ocean."

"The Undiscovered Lands, here we come," she replied. "Have you ever actually been to Easter Island?"

"Dad took me and Mum once when I was a kid for the Winter Solstice." he replied, his expression slipping just a little. "Course, we travelled by Bunnymund's tunnels, so I don't know the way, but the Nightlight does."

"Your _staff_ knows the way?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Aurum gold has a memory," he replied with a sigh. "It… tells me things when I concentrate. I think I'll be able to get us there, and with Bunnymund gone, there protective spells around the Warren will be gone, so we can walk right in. It's not much of a lead, but the Guardians _have_ to have known a way to get rid of Pitch."

She nodded, content enough in his assumptions that she didn't see the reason to discuss their journey further. The fire crackled in front of them, warming her against the cool night, and she leaned closer into his side. There was a comforting chill about his presence, like the first breath of winter, and it reminded her of days long since past. Memories of the people they'd once been—The Princess of Roses, The Prince of the Dawn, and the Snow Prince—made her want to cry, especially when held against the monarchs they'd become.

 _Go to Corona then, since you're so very miserable here._ Her father's words hung in her mind, and she gnawed on her lip. _Miserable._ She had all but drowned in misery and tears since marrying Cornelius, and now that he'd abandoned her, even the sweet had been stained bitter.

"Thinking?" he asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Yes," she replied. "I miss the twins. It was harder to get lost in my thoughts when I had to focus on caring for them."

"Flynn and 'Bella will be fine in Arendelle," he assured her. "Aunt Anna will care for them as if they were her own."

"I know." She sighed. "It doesn't make not having them with me any easier, Nick. I mean, I'm doing this for _them._ I've left Corona with my military enforcing my rule while my loyal nobles rule by council in my stead, and I've left the reclamation of Amoré to Silvanus, and I've left the raising of my own children to Anna, and I'm doing it all because Pitch _needs_ to be destroyed, not for my sake, but for theirs. They do not deserve to inherit a world stained with the failures and mistakes of their parents."

"A world without Pitch," said Nick in a soft voice. "It seems like a sweet dream at best, and a vain hope at worst, but I have faith we'll manage… somehow. You'll have a lot of work to do when this is all over."

"I think we'll both have a lot to do," she replied, not liking the tone in his voice, nor the implication.

"No," he said, still in that soft voice. Reaching out to clasp her hand in his own, he ran his fingers along her knuckles, and when she looked up to his face, she saw hoarfrost creeping along his cheeks.

"Nick, you're worrying me," she said, pursing her lips. He looked as though he was fighting the urge to say more, and she would not have that. "What is it? Tell me."

"My mother was one of the first people murdered by Pitch because of her power, and he went after my father because Dad was the one who sealed him away all those years ago," he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I'm not planning on dying, but not to sound vain, but my magic is incredibly powerful. With the Nightlight, I'm perhaps one of the most powerful people alive right now. It just… I'm not planning on dying, Alyssa, but I'd be a fool not to consider than when the fighting begins again, Pitch won't have a target painted on my back."

Alyssa sighed. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew that he was telling the truth. Once Pitch escaped his ice prison, they would all be in danger, from Ali to herself, but if she was in their foe's shoes… Nick was the most powerful member of the Council, and going after him first made sense. She didn't like it, but it made sense.

"Would this be why you've set up Bryn as your heir and left the regency to Anna?" asked Alyssa shrewdly, already connecting the dots in her mind.

"Yes," he replied. "There is a not insignificant chance of me not surviving the coming wars—you know what the Godmother said to Aquaria as well as I do, that the wars to come will only get bloodier and bloodier—and Arendelle must persevere. Bryn will be a good queen should the worst happen. She's rough around the edges, but she has a good heart, and she's a quick learner."

"Nick..." she said, her words failing her thereafter. What could she say that he didn't already know? _We're teenagers. We shouldn't be discussing plans for our deaths with such casualness. We should be thinking of balls and parties while learning to rule from our parents. This isn't fair. We're too young for any of this._

They weren't, though. It was what it was, and all they could do was their best and hope that it was enough.

"You're not going to die," she whispered. "I won't let you. You're my oldest and dearest friend, Nick, and you're not going to die. Come on. We made a promise on a beach once, the three of us, to be together always and forever, a trinity of friends. That may be broken now that Cor's left, but make me another promise, please?"

"I can't promise anything, Alyssa," he said with a shake of his head. "My parents both promised me it would be okay, and it isn't. I don't want to do the same."

"In all my life, you've _never_ broken a promise to me, and you've never lied to me," she said, unwilling to accept his answer. "So screw being realistic, and fuck being cautious. Promise me that you're going to survive this, because I don't know what I'd do if I lost you as well. You're my best friend, Nick."

Nick sighed before turning to her and pressing a kiss to her top of her head. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he drew her close, and the breath of cold that surrounded him grew sharper and more frigid. The fire hissed, just a little, throwing up sparks, and in the distance, large wings beat the air as Morgan returned to their camp.

"I promise," he whispered. "But only if you do the same, because you're my best friend as well."

She nodded, sniffling as her eyes grew wet. Burying her head on his shoulder, she nodded again, and in a muffled voice, she replied, "I promise. Always and forever, Nick."

* * *

The trip to visit the tree-lady was already getting off to a terrible start, in Christopher's humble opinion. First, he'd been roused before the dawn. Second, it had been made clear that Jian was not invited, and while Christopher was still not sure how he felt about his comrade, he couldn't deny that he'd grown somewhat attached to the brash Imperial man—despite everything, he _knew_ Jian, and the familiarity was much better than having to travel through the plains with a bunch of strangers. Third, and this was perhaps the worst thing of the entire trip, but Pocahontas had invited her children along for the trip, and Christopher did not quite know what to make of them.

Her son, Riverwind, was a tall youth that was perhaps a year or two older than Christopher, with dishevelled black hair and baleful green eyes. His copper-toned skin was covered in whorls of red paint, and his ears were pierced: what looked like a wolf fang hung from each earlobe. The daughter, on the other hand, was younger than Christopher, but she was long and toned, wearing little more than a doeskin dress, and he'd never seen cheekbones quite so high. Where her brother's hair was a tangled mess, hers was straight and long, falling to the small of her back in an elegant curtain.

However, it was not their appearances which gave Christopher pause.

Riverwind was very wolfish, and he'd _sniffed_ him during their first meeting, and as for Kaya… he was hesitant to use the term barbaric, but she was definitely a wild and unsettling presence who looked at him with a strange hunger in her eyes, like she wanted to consume his soul. He sighed at the thought, realizing he'd spent too much time with Ali, and that as a result, he'd let his imagination grow a tad bit out there.

Still, he'd already decided that life did not like him, and so all he could do was keep his head up and make the most of things. Which was why he was currently hiking through the tawny underbrush with thorns digging into his moccasins and trying his best to ignore the many, many bugs that kept buzzing across his skin.

"Ow," he hissed under his breath. Something had gotten into his shoe, and it was very stabby. Balancing on one leg—he was certainly not going to sit down on the thorny grass that was probably covered in fire ants and worse—he yanked off his shoe and shook it out, sighing in relief as a vicious looking thorn fell out.

"Another one?" Kaya snorted as she came up behind him. "You Greenlanders are all the same. Soft."

"Am I not the first Greenlander you've met?" asked Christopher, ignoring the barb as well as the odd monicker he'd been given. He was a _Renvalian,_ thank you very much, and while there were a great many woods in his kingdom, it was not called Greenland.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she asked.

"Yes. That would be why I asked," he replied, blinking in mild consternation as he slid his shoe back onto his foot.

"We've met your kind before," said Riverwind in a gruff voice. "It di—"

"Oh, don't tell any lies, River," said Kaya, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "We all know how fond you are of Greenlanders and being bent over a rock by them."

"For the last time, Azzy and I are just friends," snarled Riverwind. "I do not—"

"Do too." Kaya giggled. "Do you want to add this one to your collection? He's very soft, I think."

 _Azzy?_ Christopher blinked, not wanting to really know, but strangely curious about the presence of another person from his part of the world all the same. Almost immediately, the rest of the conversation caught up to him, and he scowled. _Soft? I am not soft._ One only had to look at his midriff—toned by his long weeks training in Agrabah and defined by the month he'd spent in the hold of that pirate ship—to know that he was not _soft._

"Oh, look," said Riverwind. "I think you offended him."

"Did I?" Kaya looked amused as she surveyed him. "I think I did. It's the truth, though. Soft."

 _I am not soft!_ He glared before stomping onwards, the tawny grass crunching beneath his moccasins as he tried to push ahead of the siblings. Their mother wasn't much for conversation, but she was certainly better than these two. _Ow!_ He gritted his teeth and came to a screeching halt a thorn stabbed him in the toe. Balancing on one leg, he made to remove the bloody shoe again. Kaya giggled, and his scowl grew.

"Stop laughing at me," he snapped. As he shook his shoe, _two_ thorns came tumbling out. _Where the hell were they coming from?_

"You're softer than Azzy was when he first showed up on our shores," said Kaya, falling into step beside him. "Look at you, stepping through thorn bushes because you're not watching where you're going, then stopping every ten paces to clean out your shoes. Soft."

As if to prove her point, she twirled around him, and for the first time, he realized that she wasn't wearing shoes. _Was she mad?_ Christopher turned around, and to his surprise, Riverwind was also barefoot. Come to think of it, he'd never seen Pocahontas wear anything on her feet either. Were they all mad? How were their feet not shredded to pieces from all these bloody thorns? This was worse than the brambles in the woods of Amoré.

"We watch where we're going," said Riverwind with a roll of his eyes, answering the question Christopher hadn't yet given voice to. "Shoes just slow you down."

"You can scoff," said Kaya with a shrug, "But it's very true. You wear shoes so you don't step in something, so your kind have forgotten how to actually watch where you're going."

"And that," finished Riverwind, "is what makes you soft."

Before Christopher could think of a retort, the siblings had pushed past him, and he scowled at their retreating backs. Finally, when they were at least twenty paces ahead of him, he sighed. _Just keep your head up and make the most of things._ Yanking his shoe back onto his foot, he kept a wary eye on the grass as he followed them. The grass was coloured an orange-gold, but he quickly noticed that every few paces, there were a few stalks that _slightly_ paler than the rest, and it was these pale stalks that held the dreaded black thorns which wormed their way into his shoes.

As he picked up his pace, he took care to avoid the stalks, making sure to walk on only the patches of grass that he knew were safe. Though he stopped to remove thorns from his shoes thrice more before they broke for a rest beside a babbling brook, he couldn't deny that it did help to be more aware of where he was stepping, even if he was only sparing a cursory glance to the ground in front of him.

* * *

"What do you make of this Greenlander?" asked Riverwind, coming to stand beside his mother atop the crag. "Is he really the man that Grandmother Willow spoke off?"

"I believe he is," replied Pocahontas. "Though he does not seem like much right now."

"That is rather obvious," drawled Riverwind.

From their vantage point atop the crag, he watched as Christopher brought up the rear of their little group. He was faster than he'd been when they set out, but travelling him was still rather like keeping pace with a snail. As if to prove his point, Christopher paused to clean out his shoes _again,_ but the boggy ground was nothing like the plains. The Greenlander hopped about on the uneven mud, trying to keep his balance, his arms windmilling around him as he tumbled into the muck with a yelp. Riverwind blinked, distinctly unimpressed, and at his side, his mother chuckled.

"He's like a newborn fawn," Riverwind muttered. "Did you see him walk into that tree when we made our way through the outskirts of the jungle?"

"I haven't been looking back that much," replied Pocahontas. "Where's your sister."

"Making sure the Greenlander doesn't die." Riverwind gestured to the bogs down below. Kaya was perched upon a rock, watching Christopher as he made his way towards the crag with a smirk on her face. _Soft,_ she'd said, and she did like playing with soft things until they broke.

"I remember the first time your Asmund accompanied us on a journey," replied Pocahontas mildly. "He gave up at the plains."

"Azzy toughened up eventually." Riverwind shook his head, a flicker of irritation passing across his eyes. "And he isn't my anything. We're just friends."

"Lying to your sister is one thing," replied his mother in that knowing way of hers. "But I hear with all the voices of the mountain. But I was making a very different point altogether. Come, River, see with more than your eyes."

Riverwind scowled as he looked down upon the bogs. The Greenlander had gotten up and wiped the muck out of his face, and with a grim look on his face, he trudged on. Mud squelched, and his steps seemed a lot more cautious as he glanced around himself, as if lightly testing each spot before putting his full weight upon it. Riverwind's scowl turned into a frown as Christopher deftly avoided a patch of stinging milkgrass. Coming to a brackish pool, he glanced around before picking up a stick and poking at the ground on the other side of it. Seeming satisfied that it was solid, he jumped across.

"He's a quick learner," said Pocahontas. "And tenacious as well. Asmund gave up after the fourth thorn found its way into his shoe, if I remember correctly."

"The difference is that Grandmother Willow didn't want a personal meeting with Azzy," replied Riverwind, though he did see his mother's point. "This one, though. She thinks he's the one who'll break the cycle, but he's like a pup still learning to sniff something before tasting it."

"We all have to start somewhere," said Pocahontas. "And even the runt of the litter has the capacity to one day lead the pack."

"I hope you're right." Riverwind wished that he had his mother's faith. "The Kingdom of the Sun has fallen. We've had to withdraw from the ruins of El Dorado." He could go on, but he knew that his mother was no stranger to what was happening at their borders. She was the High Chieftess, and the wind itself brought her tidings of the war as it raged across every front.

He swallowed. Grandmother Willow preserved their lands from the Eternals and their ilk, but Hollow Ones were the least of their worries. There was much worse slumbering in the depths, and with the Guardians slain… He shook his head. It made no difference. They would endure as they always had.

They had to.

A ripple ran through the air, and his mother tensed. Stilling, Riverwind sucked in a breath as he turned to her, watching as the breeze stirred around her. It whispered, and a troubled look appeared across her face.

"The Sea Reaper?" he asked, biting his lip. "Has he finally stirred from the depths?"

"No. Not him." Pocahontas shook her head. "Trespassers upon the Western Shores. I cannot… they are obscuring themselves... somehow. Blue Stardust from the Second Star on the Right." She shook her head. "I will hav—"

"I'll go," he said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. "Obscured or not, their magic won't work so long as Grandmother Willow endures. My pack will make short work of them."

"Investigate first," she said. "They may not mean us harm, and if… no, it's too soon. Grandmother Willow said we'd have more time…" She trailed off before shaking herself. Turning to him, she nodded. "Go, but do not bite unless they give you a reason."

Riverwind gave his mother a swift hug before taking off, his feet pounding the rocky ground atop the crag as he built up his speed. Reaching the edge, he jumped, his body rippling and shifting as he somersaulted to the ground below. Landing on all fours, he howled, the summoning call long and clear as he signalled to the other members of his pack that there was work to be done.

His paws dug into the brackish earth as he ran, but with only the faint light of a new moon lighting the world, he was all but invisible as he raced across the bogs with his black fur. As he ran, there was an answering howl to the left and another to his right, and an almost feral grin spread across his muzzle.

No matter who they were, somehow, people always gave him a reason to bite.


	58. Dollhouse

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-One**

 **Dollhouse**

* * *

As Leon Rêvere made his way to his private library, he could not help but shake the feeling that he was being followed. Glancing over his shoulder for what felt like the tenth time, he frowned when saw an empty corridor. It was not like him to be so unnerved. Shaking his head, he continued on his way.

Lucis Castle was a grim and foreboding fortress built almost entirely of basalt. As per the legends of old, his ancestors had built this castle with the help of the fairies, and Leon was inclined to trust in the myths. The castle was built atop a mountain, and the only way to reach the town below was by a single causeway of fused-black stone. Constructing such a place was all but impossible for those without magic.

The corridor leading to his private chambers was lit only by torches, for Lucis Castle stretched deep into the mountain's depths. Whilst the towers above were high enough to touch the clouds, the caverns below were so deep that even he, having been born in this place, was like to get lost if he strayed from the known tunnels. Now, after all the years he'd spent in Tenebrae—the suzerainty that had once been his mother's kingdom before being annexed into Somnia—Lucis Castle was almost as strange to him as a foreign castle.

Finally, he reached the door which led to his wing of the castle, and he brushed his fingers over the keyhole. It glowed briefly as the lock clicked open, and he locked it behind him after entering. The warm glow of dusk streamed in through the windows, warming him, and he strode towards his balcony as a pair of crows flew past. It jutted out from the side of the mountain, so high above the towns that the trees were like grass and the houses were the size of his fingernails. It was the comfort that balanced the foreboding, as he liked to think of it. His ancestors had built Lucis Castle to stand the test of time against all manner of foes, but they'd taken care to ensure that the royal quarters were built into the mountainside itself.

No man could live for eternity in darkness, after all. It was one of the reasons he preferred his palace in Tenebrae. It was an elegant place, albeit somewhat haunting, but the sun always shone upon his lands. The same could not be said for Somnia, but it was what it was, and he was a Rêvere. When Father called, he'd come, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. _For Rêvere, for Somnia, and because you are my son._

"Are you going to spend the evening staring at the view, or are you going to say hello?"

Leon nearly jumped out of his skin at his brother's voice. Whirling, he caught sight of Anthony sitting in his favourite armchair, drinking his favourite wine, with his favourite spellbook sitting dog-eared in his lap. Anger rose up in his throat, but he forced it down with a tight smile.

"How did you get in here?" asked Leon, fighting back the urge to grind his teeth.

"Your parlor tricks are clever, dearest brother, but they're no match for me," replied Anthony.

Leon raised an eyebrow. It was true that his brother was stronger than he was, both magically and physically, but Anthony lacked the patience and intelligence to work out the finer details of magic. Had he arrived to find his bedroom door blasted off its hinges, he'd have no doubt that it was Anthony's work, but to unravel his locking spell… No, that was something that was far beyond his brother's level of skill.

"Very well." Anthony chuckled. Drawing a bloodied handkerchief from his pocket, he waved it before his face. "You scratched yourself during our sparring session this morning, little brother. A blood ward is powerful, but it can't keep out those who have the key."

"And you discovered that by yourself?" asked Leon. Despite everything, including his irritation, he was rather impressed. "Or was it that witch of yours?"

"Can't slip anything by you, can I?" Anthony smirked. "Ivy knows many secrets. In time, she will know yours as well."

A shiver ran down Leon's spine. Forcing a tight smile to his lips, he turned away to return to the view, hoping to obscure his tension. His brother was a difficult person, but Ivy of Guerrana… Anthony's whore was one of the few people in this world who truly unnerved him. The phrasing had been chilling as well. _I know how this game is played,_ Leon thought. _I know it very well._

"I take it that you wanted something from me that could not wait for dinner time?" he said, his nerves growing taut as Anthony climbed from the chair.

He would be a fool to say that Anthony didn't intimidate him to some extent. Despite being brothers, there was very little they had in common save for their eyes. Leon's hair was a blond so pale it was almost ash, whereas Anthony's was perpetually stained red with the blood he bathed in. Where Leon was lithe and lean, his brother was broad-shouldered and muscled like a maiden's fantasy, wielding a warhammer so heavy that Leon could barely lift it without his arms screaming in pain.

They were the steel gauntlet and the silk glove, according to the peasants. The raging hammer and the subtle dagger of King Philip Rêvere.

His brother's heavy hand closed upon his shoulder, and he bit his lip to hide the tremor of apprehension. Then, before he could react, another hand slammed into his back and thrust him forwards into the wall. With a loud yelp, Leon's head rang out as it cracked against the smooth stones. Anthony grasped him by the back of his throat, lifting him off the ground and holding him flush against the wall. Leon gasped, fighting for breath as he tugged at his brother's hand. The tips of his boots skimmed the floor, trying to find purchase, but his brother just lifted him higher. Black spots danced in the corners of his vision, and he kicked out in a last ditch effort to free himself. Anthony barely balked. Pulling back a hand, he clenched a fist and slammed it into Leon's head. Pain bloomed across his skull, and his ears rang.

"You see, it's taken me awhile to figure it out, dearest brother, but I've been possessed with a very interesting line of thought as of late," said Anthony, speaking as though he was discussing the weather. "Your reluctance to leave Tenebrae… it made me wonder what you're trying to hide."

He released his grip, and Leon fell to the floor in a heap. Clutching his throat, he gasped for air, his head spinning with such ferocity that he dared not get to his feet.

"Hide?" Leon asked. _He can't know. I was careful._ "Brother, if you lived in Tenebrae, I assure you that you'd be loathe to leave it as well."

"No, it can't be that," muttered Anthony. "It makes me wonder. You were the one who went after Princess Lucile after we captured her idiot brother, and you were the one who let her slip. Now, I know you, Leon, and the only reason that girl ended up in Hamelin was because you let her be taken."

"Have you been stealing into Mother's library?" Leon retorted, not liking how close to the truth his brother seemed to be. _He can't know. I was careful. He can't know. He's just suspicious_. "From the way you're speaking, I'd say you've been reading too many mysteries."

Anthony responded with a kick, catching Leon in the gut. He grunted, curling into a ball to prevent further blows, bile rising in his throat. Gagging at the taste, he coughed before looking up with a dull glare. _Laminae choro_ , he thought. In a shower of purple sparks, a dozen knives burst into existence and swirled around his brother, the blades glinting.

"Do that again, and I'll bury those in you," he muttered, dragging himself into a sitting position. With a flex of his wrist, he added, " _Calor."_

The knives glowed white-hot as Anthony made to grab one—no doubt with the intention of burying it into him as he sat against the wall and forcing another resurrection— before yanking away his hand, fury glinting in his eyes. Backing away, Anthony shook his head in disdain. The knives swirled, remaining close to Leon, their blades almost molten with the enchanted heat coursing through the metal.

"One day, baby brother, you won't have all your parlor tricks to protect you," said Anthony with a scowl.

"I doubt that," muttered Leon, latching onto his brother's anger to divert the conversation into safer waters. "I'm quite good at magic."

"Don't I know it." Anthony shook his head and something flickered in his eyes. "For the sake of the mother who bore us both, I will say nothing to Father about your Avalorian whore. _But,_ I'll give you a brotherly warning. Do not fail this family again."

 _He knows._ Leon kept his face impassive as he nodded, not dropping his knives. With a final glare, Anthony turned on his heel and stomped off. Breathing a weary sigh, Leon clawed his way to his feet and stumbled towards his desk. He needed to send a letter to Tenebrae, and the sooner it reached Elena, the better. _Ant knows._

* * *

"Mother?" Aurelia asked as she stepped out onto the balcony. "You sent for me?"

Queen Aurora stood between the merlons, resplendent in her glittering gown of pink taffeta and white chiffon. The opal upon her crown gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Without turning, she drew back the string of her bow and released an arrow with a sharp twang. A bird screeched, and Aurelia bit her lip as a black shape plummeted from between the clouds. It was an impossible shot, but her mother wielded the Bow of Truth. It _never_ missed its mark.

"Crows," murmured Aurora, her voice softer than her satin gloves. "Such pestilent creatures. Do you know that in all the years that I've lived in Lucis Castle, I've never known a crow to fly this high?"

Aurelia blinked, not quite understanding what her mother was getting at. Birds flew, did they not, and she had never spared much of a thought for how high they chose to soar. Besides, crows were commonplace near her part of the castle—for several months now, they'd made their nests around her balcony, and she'd all but given up on having the maids knock them away with broomsticks. Their cawing was maddening, but they'd been there since…

"Fuck," she hissed under her breath.

"Manners, Aurelia," said Aurora, her tone never shifting. "One would think you'd forgotten your lessons in etiquette. Perhaps a refresher is in order?"

Aurelia winced as a phantom pain crossed her knuckles, and she immediately straightened her posture. Clasping her hands together in front of her chest, she schooled her expression into a perfect mask. She was a princess, she reminded herself, and she did not need a reminder. Her governesses and tutors had done their jobs, and there was no need for a refresher. All she needed to do to remember was glance at the faint scars upon her knees, left there by grains of rice. _You may stop kneeling when you've perfected your script, Princess._

Taking a deep breath, she dismissed the memories and focused her attention upon the task at hand.

"Lucile Charmant?" she asked. "Has that woman been using birds to spy on us?"

"She has been using crows to communicate with her brother," replied Aurora, glancing back towards the sky. "Lady Ivy of Guerrana was able to intercept one of the letters a crow carried. Why is it, Aurelia, that Anthony's harlot is of more use to us than you have been?"

"Ivy Sabbat is a gras—"

"The De Vil blood is rather unfortunate given that family's reputation, but she's rather removed from Cruella's ilk," noted Aurora with a shrug. "Perhaps if she gives me a grandchild, I won't have it drowned like the others."

Aurelia fought the urge to grit her teeth. With an imperceptible nod, she dismissed the topic of her brother's current suitor—really, both Anthony and Leon had no eye for pedigree, what with their choices being Ivy of Guerrana and Elena of Avalor—but then again, they weren't as blessed as she was. Leon's ambition was virtually non-existent, for he was content to hold their mother's former kingdom of Tenebrae, now a suzerain of Somnia, whereas Anthony stood to inherit their father's throne.

With Margaret Charming dead, Leon was free to do as he pleased with respects to potential wives, but Aurelia did not wish to be a petty dame. She was a princess born to be a queen, and Jaq Charmant was the perfect match for her. Their love could not be denied, no matter how grim and forlorn Jaq sometimes looked. He missed home, that was all, and she'd give him Eléadoré as soon as he gave her a child.

"Nothing more to say?" asked Aurora. "Or have you already dismissed the fact that Lucile is plotting something with her brother under our very noses?"

"Lucile Charmant would faint at the sight of a real fight." Aurelia shrugged, thinking back to what she knew of the other princess. "Her magical gifts extend to being able to speak and understand all languages, even those of beasts. She has no skill at arms, and despite her recent romance with Caspian Starshells, Aquitania barely survived the war with Ursula. We have nothing to fear from her."

"So like your father." There was a glint in Aurora's eyes. "You underestimate those around you to your own sorrow. Are you aware that half of Eléadoré is in open rebellion against Tremaine? Why do you think we've requested Leon return to Lucis Castle, Aurelia? War is coming, and it will be bloody."

Aurelia blinked. War? That was not the plan. She was supposed to have a child with Jaq and claim the throne of Eléadoré in the name of that child—though, despite their frequent couplings, her husband had so far been unsuccessful in impregnating her. A war had never been part of the plan… _It will ruin everything._ It was one thing to win a kingdom when restoring a dynasty and ousting the leader of a coup, but it was another altogether to fight against the rightful ruler.

"We must know what Jaq knows," said Aurora. "But he will not speak willingly, and I am loathe to have him tortured for fear that we may still have need of him. We _do_ have need of him, or his seed at any rate, though I should have hoped you'd have succeeded in that by now."

"I am _trying,_ Mother." Aurelia had to pinch herself to keep from snapping. _Never anger her,_ she reminded herself. Father was forgiving, but Mother… _never anger her._ "He's just… still fighting our feelings for each other."

"Indeed." Aurora snorted. "Your father and I were loathe to go with this option since the effects are irreversible, but it would seem that the natural method is ineffective. We are out of time for games, Aurelia, but thankfully, I still have friends in the Enchanted Forest."

Something flashed across her eyes as she set down her bow and reached into the bodice of her top. Drawing out a small red bottle, she held it to the light with a strange expression on her face.

"What is that?" asked Aurelia, narrowing her eyes. _Friends in the Enchanted Forest? Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather._ It could not be anyone else but the three fairies who had once protected her mother from Maleficent. She gnashed her teeth, the very memory of the sorceress making her skin crawl.

"A drop of desire, a pinch of passion, and just a hint of _lust,"_ replied Aurora. "See that your beloved drinks this, and should you kiss him before midnight, he will be yours forever."

"A love potion?" asked Aurelia, fighting to hide her eagerness as she accepted the bottle. "Oh, Mother… thank you."

"It's nothing, dear," said Aurora in a mild voice before turning back to the sky. "We all know how much I want my children to be happy."

* * *

When Aurelia was away, Jaq found her wing of the castle to be somewhat comfortable. It was nothing like home, but without his wife looming over him, he found it relatively easy to relax. He still wasn't permitted to leave this wing of the castle save for when he was summoned to join the Rêveres for dinner—something that he always found awkward and somewhat nauseating—but the rooms he did have weren't the worst in the world.

Save for the bedroom, because there was only so much pink and lilac one person could take without going mad.

The evening found him in their private living room trying to pass the time with a deck of cards. There were very few games that he could play with himself, but solitaire was better than doing nothing. With a sigh, he glanced out the window to see the sun hanging low over the horizon. Aurelia would return soon, and it would be time for him to do his marital duty once more. To be perfectly honest, all he usually did was lie down and let her do as she pleased until she was sated, but there was never a night that went by that it didn't make his skin crawl.

His mind strayed to his sister's last letter. Despite the crows being a secret known to just the two of them and whomever his sister trusted enough—he suspected that Caspian knew, for one—the letters were written in a code known only to the Charmant royal family. Encrypted as they were, he was certain that even if they did find their way into Rêvere hands, the contents would remain secret. _She's returning to Eléadoré._ The thought of his sister going to war filled him with worry, and he wanted nothing more than to be at her side, assisting her in reclaiming their homeland.

Despite his misgivings, however, he also held onto a strain of hope. When she was queen, she'd have the power to have him freed from his captivity. He'd be able to leave this place, and with time, he might even be able to break his marriage with Aurelia. Pursing his lips, he returned to his game, reminding himself not to get his hopes up. There was a long road ahead, and it may be years before he could be a free man again.

As he set down the ace of spades, the door swung open. He looked up, unable to keep the surprise from his face as Leon Rêvere strode into the room, an impassive expression on his face. Jaq set down his cards, leaning back into the sofa and schooling his features into a blank mask. It was not in his brother-in-law's nature to pay him visits when Aurelia wasn't present, and every instinct he had screamed that something was afoot.

"Charmant," said Leon in a smooth voice. "I would like a word."

"As if I could say no, Rêvere." Jaq rolled his eyes, folding his arms at his chest. "I'm a captive, remember."

"I mean, if you're going to be blunt about it." Leon snorted. A strange look passed over his face, and he took a seat on the couch across from Jaq. Leaning back, he folded one leg over the other, resting an ankle on his knee, and he folded his arms behind his head. "Way I see things, you are my brother-in-law, and I might as well _try_ to get to know you a bit."

Jaq burst out laughing.

He couldn't help himself. Doubling over, he clutched at his sides, all but wheezing with mirth at the very notion of Leon fucking Rêvere wanting to get to know him. It was one thing for Aurelia to act like he was here entirely of his own volition rather than the brutal truth, but _Leon?_ The man was a twisted psychopath who practiced the black arts and called the haunted jungles of Tenebrae his home. In all their lives, they had _never_ seen eye-to-eye.

Never.

For the Godmother's sake, the last time Leon had visited Eléadoré, Jaq had punched him in the face. Another peal of laughter escaped him, and he gasped for breath, knowing that if he didn't rein himself in soon, he'd get a stitch in his side.

"You done?" asked Leon, and Jaq was quite certain that there was a glint of amusement in the man's voice.

"Unless you're going to tell another joke," said Jaq. Sitting up straight, he smoothed out his shirt and sighed, the mirth already dying as reality once more began to set in. _He wants something, and something is afoot._

"Perhaps it would be best if I just get down to business, then," said Leon with a shrug. "As you know, your Glass Sword was confiscated when you were captured, and Father was keen on simply destroying it."

"No!" Jaq's eyes widened, the word leaving his lips before he could contain himself. _No._ "You ca—"

"I talked him out of that idea," interrupted Leon. "Because it seemed a waste to simply destroy a fairy blade, and because I wished to study it. Based on your reaction, it would seem that I'm correct in my evaluation of the blade's magic. I admit, you've played us all."

"Excuse me?" Jaq asked, stifling a sigh of relief. _The sword is fine. It's fine._ Yet, a knot was forming in his stomach. _They knew._ If they knew of his condition, then it was likely that he was no longer useful to them, and he may well have changed one death for another. _No,_ he told himself. _Leon wants something, or I'd be dead already._

"I think it would be wise to not play dumb, Jaq," said Leon. His eyes flashed. "I've done my research, including testing a few drops of your blood."

"How did you get my blood?"

"Is that really important?" Leon scoffed. "The end results remains the same. You were born with the _Wasting Sickness,_ and by all accounts, you should have died within a few days of being born. The _only_ known cure is a monthly dose of unicorn blood, but since those are extinct and you show absolutely no side-effects of ever ingesting it in the first place, it makes me curious. You're here, hale and healthy, and for some reason, your sword carries a very strong preservation charm, along with a fair few others."

 _Well, he's got it all figured out,_ thought Jaq, wondering how in the world he was supposed to even respond to something like that. _Congratulations, you're right, I'm terminally ill and only alive thanks to a magic sword given to me by the Fairy Godmother._

"So, if I am correct so far, which I believe I am, then you can't have children, can you?" concluded Leon.

"Guilty as charged," replied Jaq with a shrug, knowing that there was no use in lying. Leon had painstakingly worked through his entire ruse… the deal he'd been forced into to try and save his sister. _King Philip did offer numerous ransoms to Hamelin,_ he remembered, so it hadn't even been as if the Rêveres hadn't held up their side of things.

On the other hand, Lucile and he had only ended up in their current situations because the Rêveres had turned on them in their moment of greatest need, so there was that…

"Unfortunate, but we must all play with the hand we're dealt," replied Leon, and there was an almost pitying hint to his voice that Jaq didn't quite care for. "Still, your life is safe so long as my parents believe you're capable of siring an heir, which they will not for long if Aurelia gets her way."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I personally have no intention of airing your secrets to all and sundry," said Leon. "However, that does not mean your secret is safe."

"Listen," snapped Jaq, his temper starting to rise. "Could you not be cryptic and just spit out what you're here to say, because I'd rather not be messed with anymore than I already have."

"My apologies," said Leon. "Your… hesitancy towards my sister has been picked up on—"

"Forgive me for that," interjected Jaq with a role of his eyes. "She's just held me prisoner, married me against my will, beaten me, and _raped_ me. I can't imagine why I'm not in love with her."

A strange emotion flashed across Leon's eyes, and he sighed. Shoulders slumping just a little, he leaned forward and shook his head, his expression growing into something Jaq could almost mistake for sympathy.

"Believe it or not, Jaq, but I'm no stranger to the monsters I'm related to," he said, a quaver in his voice. "Perhaps I'm not better than they are for my role in things, but I am genuinely sorry for what you're going through. I'm not going to wax poetic here, and I'm not going to make things sentimental, but I am sorry."

Jaq blinked. This was not what he'd been expecting in the slightest. It was clearly a trick of some sort, because this entire thing just felt weird. Getting off the couch, he turned away, because he wasn't sure he could keep up his mask after hearing _that._ Hands in his pockets, he began to pace, gnawing at his lip. _What does he want?_ Was it not bad that he was their prisoner, that he was separated from his family, that he was forced to be with Aurelia, that he'd been caught in this game of survival for so long that he could barely remember what it was to be truly happy?

Did they need to toy with him again? Did they need to apologise when they _really_ couldn't mean it?

"I'm sorr—"

"Stop saying that," snapped Jaq, his temper flaring up again. "Just… say what you have to say, what you came here to say, and go. Don't pretend you're sorry for things you willingly did to me. Give me that much respect, at least, Rêvere."

"Fine." Leon breathed a weary sigh. "My sister intends to dose you with a love potion tonight. This is the antidote."

Something clinked, and Jaq turned back around to see Leon set a tiny phial on the coffee table beside the cards. _A love potion?_ He blinked. _Your hesitancy has been noted._ So that was Aurelia's game, was it?

"Why?" he asked, suspicion forming in his mind as he reached out to pluck the phial of the table. The potion was thick and green, like oil gone rancid, and the phial was so tiny that it only held a few drops.

"Because a love potion will have you confessing each and every one of your secrets to Aurelia the second she asks, and I'm not an idiot. You know what will happen to you the second you cease to be of use to my parents, and… this is me hedging my bets for the wars to come. If your sister loses, my family and I win. If your sister wins…"

"You'll be the man who kept me from being beheaded, is that right?" asked Jaq, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," said Leon with an easy shrug of his shoulders, but by the glint in his eyes, Jaq knew there was more to the story that was not being told. Eyes hardening with a quiet menace, Leon leaned forward, his lips curling into a snarl. "Now, listen to me, and listen very well, Charmant. You drink this antidote, but you're going to act as though the love potion worked, you got that? You're going to act your heart out. When you're questioned, act like you're telling the truth. No more brooding either. You're going to laugh and smile like this is the best place in the world and you're happier than you've ever been. _Sell it._ Even if you have to fuck Aurelia senseless, _do it,_ because when the dust settles, you'll still be alive."

Jaq was stiff as a board, but he nodded. _He's right._ The antidote was one thing, but if he didn't act like a man smitten by true love, it would be over in an instant. As much as the thought repulsed him, made his skin crawl and twisted his stomach into knots, he understood.

"Thank you," he muttered, not meeting Leon's eyes. As much as he hated the other man, he knew full well the risk that Leon had taken to simply give him this antidote. _If I can't keep up the ruse, and if they try other means of getting me to spill all I know…_ Leon's role would be exposed.

He'd already seen Aurelia stab Leon in the throat just for passing on a summons from Queen Aurora—honestly, how Leon had even shrugged that off was still a mystery, though it probably had something to do with the black arts—and there was no doubt in Jaq's mind that if Leon was exposed, there'd be hell to pay.

Without another word, he popped to stopper off the phial and down the potion. It was bitter, coating his tongue like oil. Handing the empty phial back to Leon so it could be disposed of, he nodded once, hoping his expression conveyed everything that he didn't think he could put into words.

"You're welcome," said Leon. "Now, let's just hope you're a good actor, or we're both in for a world of pain."

* * *

Anthony Rêvere stood upon his balcony, staring out across his kingdom. The hour of twilight was approaching, swathing in the sky in a purple-gold haze. The chill breeze ghosted across his bare skin. It was always cold in Lucis Castle—a fortress built atop one of the highest mountains of Somnia—and most would find it irksome.

To him, it was exhilarating. There was nothing like the feeling of warm blood drying upon his cool skin, and he revelled in the sensation. It trickled down his arms and legs to pool beneath his feet, dripping from his fingers. The only feeling better—the _only feeling_ —was the thrill of watching the life ebb in another's eyes, to see the delicate spark extinguished like a candle caught by a stiff breeze.

"Anthony…"

Ivy's low whine pricked at his ears as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest. With splayed fingers, she smeared the blood across his skin before resting her chin upon his shoulder, her soft hair tickling his cheeks.

"You're keeping me waiting again," she purred. "Why?"

"I'm thinking," he replied, his lips curling into a smile. "Of the wars to come."

"Wars can wait," she whispered, her bloodied fingers slipping down his torso. "It's cruel to keep me waiting after exciting me so, my once and future king."

Anthony chuckled. _So warped, my beloved Ivy._ His lover was a woman unlike any other in the world, and she was never quite so excited as she was after watching him extract information from a prisoner who didn't want to talk. He understood. Torture was an art, and to bring someone to the brink of breaking before drawing them back a masterpiece. The denizens of Hamelin and Grimhilde were rustic and ruthless, using torture for their own pleasure… a waste of precious art, in his opinion.

His way was so much more refined, so much more delicious, and if Ivy Sabbat was drawn to his performance, then how could he resist? _My bloodthirsty princess…_ She was a beautiful thing, all long legs, full breasts, and the signature De Vil hair. So few lovers had survived him… but Ivy…

He leaned back into her embrace, closing his eyes as her lips pressed into his throat.

"Say that again," he said. "I never tire of hearing it."

"Once and future king?" Ivy purred, her nails raking across his pelvis. "You'd best get used to it, Anthony. It's who you are. The descendent of King Charming the First, the Promised King who shall unite that which was broken into three… Excalibur will be yours. I have seen it in my visions. Oh glorious king upon the battlefield, the world itself bowed at your feet."

Anthony grinned. _Yes. Yes it will be._ Ivy's visions did not lie, and with her at his side, there was no power in this world that could stop him. Who was there to stand in his way now that the pawns had done their work…

"Eléadoré. Renvale. Somnia," he said. "Three kingdoms to rule, and those will just be the start."

She hummed in response, her lips sending vibrations along his skin as she kissed the nape of his neck. Allowing her to continue in her ministrations, Anthony braced himself against the railing, his grin growing as he surveyed the kingdom sprawled beneath him. One day, it would be his, and by his birthright, Somnia would grow until it encompassed the entire continent.

The war with Pitch Black had been productive, and now that Pitch was gone… he was ready to sweep aside the pieces.

His thoughts of conquest came to a screeching halt as he spied a shape upon the horizon. Narrowing his eyes, he glared as the small shape taking flight from the nearby balcony. Even in the dim light of the gathering night, he could make out his brother's griffon. _Withers._

Ivy whined as he pushed her aside and crossed the balcony, his jaw set in irritation as he made out Leon's mop of ash-blond hair atop the griffon. _He's up to something, as usual._ Leon was as slippery as an eel at the best of times, but with war looming on the horizon… Anthony did not like this one bit.

"The Avalorian is here," said Ivy in a low voice, coming to stand beside him, her gaze fixed upon the sky. "Your brother's whore hides above the clouds."

Anthony scowled. _Elena of Avalor…_ He mistrusted her on principle, and her romance with Leon was not something he could overlook, not when Leon couldn't be counted upon to put The House of Rêvere above Tenebrae. _It's always a mistake to divide your kingdom, Father…_ Yet, his father had been foolish… so foolish. Giving Leon rule over their mother's kingdom of Tenebrae, now a suzerain state of Somnia, had been a mistake from the start. No matter how much his father insisted that it was necessary to keep someone loyal to the family in charge of their most rebellious territory…

 _Leon loves me not, and his game will be a thorn in my side. His role in what became of Lucile Charmant proves that._

"I curse the day he used that bloody spell upon himself." Anthony hissed, all thoughts of a passionate night with Ivy long forgotten. He clenched his fists. "He doesn't fear me as he once did."

"What can be done can also be undone," murmured Ivy. "Leon may have hidden his soul in a phylactery, but that just means he has a single weakness. If need be… find the phylactery and destroy it, and his days of resurrecting are over."

"Perhaps…" Anthony gritted his teeth. _To find a phylactery is like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of the highest mountain._ Leon was not a fool. Wherever he'd hidden his soul… it was somewhere that it would never be found. "He still came at Father's call. Until he truly steps out of line, I fear we will have to tolerate his presence… Besides, it would hurt Mother to lose a son, even if the son in question is as insignificant and unworthy as my brother."

"We shall see," murmured Ivy. "Come… Anthony. There is nothing more to do tonight, not when those two keep their dalliances above the clouds where we cannot see or hear. My once and future king… come inside with me so I may sate your rage."

Anthony's scowl grew, but he nodded. Letting her guide him into the bedroom, he paused once to glare at the sky before slamming the door behind him, and the thought echoed through his mind.

 _The Once and Future King, Anthony Rêvere._


	59. Uncharted Waters

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-Two**

 **Uncharted Waters**

* * *

Their camp was small: two tents set beside a crackling fire upon the coast of the Last Isle. Ahead of them stretched nothing but ocean… and far to the west lay the Undiscovered Lands where Bunnymund had made his home. It was called Easter Island, she remembered, a place of stone statues and the Warren, a vast network of tunnels which likely spanned the entire globe.

It would be a long journey, and as Alyssa stared at the road ahead, she realized that she had never quite realized just how long it would be. Fidgeting with her ring, she gnawed on her lower lip, indecision blooming within her chest. _I have to go. Nothing matters more than defeating Pitch._

Yet, even as the thought occurred to her, she heard the squalling of two infants in her ears, and a flicker of phantom warmth spread across her arms, almost as if she was holding them to her chest. _Flynn and Isabella… all I do, I do for them…_ Would they understand? She hoped so.

A twig snapped, and she turned to find Morgan coming to stand beside her. His hair was tousled by the wind, and the barest hints of scruff spanned his jaw like a shadow. If she looked deeper, she saw the missing softness in his cheeks and weary look in his eyes. The sight made her sad, and the memories of Arendelle did not help. What had they become beneath the stains of time and grief: Nick, a gaunt shadow of his usual cheery self; Morgan, looking more a hardened man than the sarcastic boy who'd helped her marry in secret; and Cornelius, missing…

 _Forever and always…_ She remembered the words, even if her husband clearly did not. It had been the three of them: rose, snowflake, and sunburst, a trio who'd been together since childhood, and they'd sworn to stand together against all the world. It had been a sweet lie, she thought.

"Tomorrow, we leave for uncharted territory," said Alyssa, gazing out across the sea. Her wind billowed in the breeze, her expression like stone. "Are you sure that you'll be able to make the flight in one go?"

"Really?" Morgan chuckled, the sound low in his throat. "You know well enough that I can."

She nodded. A part of her felt foolish for even giving voice to such a question, because he was right. She did know. Pulling her cloak tight around her, she settled down upon the nearest rock before sucking a deep breath of the salty air. It was bracing, and she knew that the cold would only get worse the further out to sea they went, to say nothing of what it would be like above the clouds.

Nick's soft murmurs carried from the tent as he used his magic mirror to speak with his aunt. As ever, he was diligent in his duty, a boy born to be king. Alyssa knew a great many heirs, but there were few as suited to the throne as Nick.

"You know," said Morgan, breaking the silence before it turned awkward, "As a child, I sometimes dreamed of being welcomed into the House of Revêre. I wanted to be a prince or a king, and I wanted my father to be a decent person and my half-siblings to not be sociopaths." He sucked in a breath, and his wan smile was almost amused. "I was a stupid child. In retrospect, I was even stupider than I thought. Just looking at you and Nick stresses me out, and I'm just the royal catamite according to the Duke of Weselton."

"He did not," she said, her lips curling into a wry grin.

"Oh, he did," replied Morgan. "I think the wretched weasel believes I'm illiterate, because he seemed shocked to know that I understood what the word meant. I swear, I'd have eaten him if Nick didn't point out I'd probably get indigestion."

"Nick has a point," she said, having to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "At his age, Weselton probably tastes like boiled leather and mold."

"He'll outlive us all because he keeps himself alive out of pure spite." Morgan nudged her in the side. "Now, I think this is the first time I've seen you crack a genuine joke in a while, so I suppose my mission has been accomplished."

She paused, not knowing how to respond to that. Had it really been that long since she'd japed with a friend? She'd laughed recently, and she'd smiled. Alyssa was sure of it. Yes, she'd been sad more often than she'd been happy, but that was simply a part of life.

"Be honest, Alyssa," continued Morgan, once again filling in the silence. "Do you really want to come with us? It's still not too late to turn back."

"So long as Pitch Black exists, I can't not go," she replied, the words spilling forth before she'd even pondered the question. "Yes, I'd rather be in Solaris with my children. Yes, I'd rather be working on the reclamation of Amoré rather than leaving it to Silvanus. Yes, I would rather be solidifying my son's rule rather than leaving it to a council of regents, most of whom have no love for me."

Alyssa closed her eyes. _I would rather have Cornelius in my arms again, even if every part of me screams to throw his wedding ring into the deepest part of the sea._

"It's all gone wrong, Morgan, but I can't not try to pick up the pieces as best I can," she concluded with a sigh. "You've seen Amoré. You fought in the siege of Arendelle. You've seen Corona. Pitch Black caused all of this. My parents… Nick's parents… all of them… they're all gone because of Pitch, and if I don't go, and if I don't throw everything into stopping him, what happens when he comes for Flynn and Isabella?"

Her eyes were wet. Morgan reached out to squeeze her arm, and she barely felt his touch. It was cold. So cold, but on the inside, in a place were no fire could warm her.

"And what happens if you don't come home to them?" he asked in a low voice. "Would you rather stop Pitch, Alyssa, or have your parents back?"

The tears spilled down her cheeks. That was unfair. If such a choice was posed, was it even a choice? She didn't think so. Morgan's arm was around her shoulders. Turning to face him, she shook her head, the salt spray like needles upon her face as the wind picked up.

"I would stop Pitch," she said, barely able to get the words out without choking. "Because I would never be able to look my father or my mother in the eye and tell either of them that I'd sacrificed the world just for the people I loved."

* * *

It was a surprisingly warm night.

Nick sat at the edge of one of the island's many rock pools, dipping his feet into the still water. Ahead, the waves crashed into a dozen outcroppings of rock, throwing the spray a dozen feet into the air. Frost twisted across the pool, absently trailing from his fingers, but with his mind so far away, he barely noticed.

"Word from home?"

Nick looked up at the sound of Morgan's voice, shaking himself to clear his head as his boyfriend came to sit beside him.

"The usual." Nick sighed. "Most of our trade routes are still down, we still don't trust Weselton as far as we can throw him, and it's already time to begin planning for our next winter."

"But your aunt has it all in hand," said Morgan. "It could be a lot worse."

"It could." Nick nudged his boyfriend in the side. "How'd your chat with Alyssa go?"

"I'm worried about her," replied Morgan. "I think she's in a worse place than we thought."

"And you're having second thoughts as to whether she should come with us." Nick sighed. He shared the sentiment, but he knew full well that there wasn't anything to do once Alyssa had made her mind up about something. Honestly, a part of him wondered if this change of scenery would be good for her. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for her to remain in Solaris, surrounded by memories of Cornelius, and… maybe this was what she needed to do to heal. It was a goal, something tangible, and he knew how important it was to have something to work towards to keep from going mad.

"Babbling, Nick," murmured Morgan, nudging him in the side. "But, yes, it might have been better for her to go to Arendelle with the kids if she needed a breath of fresh air. Travelling to world's end when she's like this… I don't know." He sighed. "I could never sacrifice you to save the world, you know? I'd try and find another way, but she's—"

"I think you asked her the wrong question," said Nick with a shake of his head. "You're right, Morgan. I could never save the world if the price was you, but… you're breathing and you're alive, and you're something to fight for. My parents are dead. It kills me. I'll feel that loss until the day I die. But, if I had to choose between bringing them back and saving the world, the world wins everytime. It's not because I don't love them, it's because they're gone and I have to accept it."

"This entire train of thought is so confusing," said Morgan with a frown. "Can we all just agree to not sacrifice each other for the greater good of the world?"

"Well, that's the plan," replied Nick. "But, it's important to plan for every eventuality, especially when you're a king."

It was the bitter truth of their world, but he understood. It was why he'd done all he'd done before leaving Arendelle: naming Bryn his heir and insisting she learn the fundamentals of ruling before formally handing the regency to Aunt Anna. He didn't plan to die, and he didn't want to die… but it was a possibility, and it was important that Arendelle had a future, even if he did not.

In this war, he had to be the boy he had once been. He had to be a king first, Nick second, and Alyssa had to do the same.

"This is depressing."

"It is, isn't it?" Nick chuckled despite himself. "Godmother, what I wouldn't give to back to the way things were. Things were so much easier when I was saving you from my guards."

"I spent the next few nights going on walks in the hopes I'd bump into you again, you know," said Morgan, his lips curling into a grin. He slung an arm around Nick's shoulders. "Somehow, that also sounds depressing."

"I think it's cute." Nick couldn't help but smile. "Remember our first kiss?"

"You played with my ears, you dork," replied Morgan. "Man, we've come a long way, haven't we?"

"We weren't that bad?"

"You screamed like a little girl the first time you woke up with my tail wrapped around you."

"It was a tail." Nick laughed. "C'mon, how could I have seen that one coming and prepared for it?"

Feeling lighter than he had in months, he rested his head on Morgan's before wrapping an arm around his lover's waist. The tide was going out, and the water in the pool barely came to their ankles. Starlight glimmered across the still waters, and moon cast deep shadows across the rocks. It was a reminder, thought Nick, that there was still beauty in the world.

And, if he was going to be a casualty in the coming war, then the only thing he could do right now was _live._

He turned, cupping Morgan's cheek in one hand and resting the other on his lover's back before leaning in. There was no recreating the fumbling intensity of their first kiss, but what remained was sweeter. Every bump of their noses, every slip of tongue between his lips… there was a history to it, one that Nick wouldn't change for anything.

Morgan's fingers closed around the clasp of Nick's belt, and he broke the kiss, reaching down to stop him.

"We should get back to our tent," he murmured.

"Or… you know," said Morgan, gesturing to the pool. "Seems like a flat enough surface."

"We're going to get sand everywhere." Nick grumbled, though he had to admit that he somewhat liked where this was going.

"Aw, c'mon Nick, live a little."

Nick chuckled before kissing him again, and if the first kiss of the night had been sweet, this one was spice. In a mess of tangled limbs and shed clothes, they slid into the water with a soft splash. The sand scraped at Nick's back, the water rushing into his ears, and Morgan was on him, whispering sweet nothings into his throat as the waves crashed against the shore.

* * *

Jian did not appreciate being left to his own devices while Christopher went off in search of whatever _destiny_ apparently awaited him, and to be perfectly honest, he was rather offended that he hadn't been asked along. He snorted. Was he not good enough for a talking tree? Had his actions during the invasion of the Imperium already been forgotten?

Unable to mask his irritability as he stomped through the village. It was a far cry from the civilizations he was used to, and this strange land rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn't hear the ancestral spirits in this place, in this land that lay beyond Tsar Luna's reach. Worse, his magic was nullified, and though it would be a simple matter to craft a pair of fans, they'd be decorative at best while he was without magic.

It was not in his nature to fall into such a black mood, but it was very difficult to stay positive when he had absolutely nothing to do. Without his magic, he couldn't send a message to Sigrun in DunBroch—knowing his girlfriend, she was either still searching for him or else already in the process of grieving his presumed death—or to his sister, Yuë. The thought brought a scowl to his face. If only he hadn't been in such a rush to return to DunBroch, if only he'd waited for a more reputable ship…

If only… He shook his head. There were a lot of things that he could have done, but the past was not something that could be changed. Right now, he needed a goal to work towards. Yes, he wanted to make his way home to the woman he loved, but he had no idea how to go about doing that. Of course, he could wait for Christopher to return, but who even knew when that would be?

What he needed was something to occupy his thoughts in the short term, something that could keep him busy. Maybe he should get to work on those fans… if only so he'd be armed when they finally put this depressing land behind them.

His scowl deepened as he passed the outskirts of the village, the coarse grass crunching beneath his moccasins. Jian followed the well-worn path to the river, hoping that he wouldn't run into anyone on the way there. It was not that the people of this land were unfriendly; in fact, they were exceptionally welcoming. It was simply that he wasn't in the mood for socialisation, not today, and definitely not in the mood he was currently in.

To his relief, the banks of the river were deserted. Letting out a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused on the sound of coursing water. It was a familiar sound, even if it wasn't the Yangtze. For a moment, he allowed himself to drift back to the hundreds of hours he'd spent upon those shores. He'd trained and he'd meditated, honing his skills in battle for years, and in the end, it hadn't even mattered.

He hadn't been able to save his homeland from ruin. A fresh wave of guilt rippled through him, and he gritted his teeth. Dwelling on the past would do him no good, he reminded himself. He had to focus on the future, and the inevitable fights to come. Even if the mystical talking tree didn't consider him important enough, it changed nothing. He was born to soldiers, and he had grown up knowing that so long as the enemy remained, his fight was not over.

Jian slipped into his stance, his eyes still shut. Legs spread, feet in line with each other, arms outstretched in either direction. Taking a deep breath, he opened his palms, keeping his fingers together. The world fell away save for the rush of the river, and with practised ease, he moved. His form was impeccable, fluid as water. _Swift as the coursing river with all the force of a great typhoon… be strong as a raging fire… mysterious as the dark side of the moon._ His mother's words echoed in his ears, and the world itself fell away as he trained.

When he opened his eyes, the sun hung low upon the horizon, and the sky was a blur of orange and gold. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he took a final deep breath before approaching the river's edge. Kneeling, he splashed the cool water across his face, barely feeling the chill. His reflection stared back at him, warped by the current, and he sighed.

Training had helped focus his mind and calm the raging storm within his heart, but the eyes that stared back at him were still heavy with condemnation. _You failed your homeland. You escaped while your people died. Your soldiers. Your brethren. The men and the women and the children, all of them slaughtered while your girlfriend carried you to safety._ Jian turned away, unwilling to hear anymore.

"You've gotten better."

Jian whirled, yanking his knife free from his belt and falling into a defensive crouch at the sound of the stranger. He scanned the long grass around him, freezing when he finally caught sight of the speaker. _No._ He blinked, certain that he was seeing things, but… no…

It was a young man who looked to be very near his own age, with pale skin and blond hair. He was tall and broad of shoulder, and though it had been a dozen or more years, Jian would recognise those eyes until the very end of time. Sigrun's eyes…

"Long time no see, old friend," said Asmund Hofferson Haddock, first and only son of King Hiccup and the late Queen Astrid, runaway heir to the throne of Berk.

Jian blinked before sheathing his dagger. Slowly, he approached the other man, trying to keep his confusion from showing in his expression. Asmund extended a hand, and Jian made to shake it.

At the last second, he pulled back his fist and, with as much strength as he could manage, punched Asmund in the face. The viking yelled, clapping his hands over his nose, but before he could get a word in, Jian opened his mouth.

"That's from your sister," he said. "For not getting in touch with your father for the past ten years and letting him think you were dead."

* * *

"How in the world did you get shredded by so many seashells?" asked Alyssa, raising her voice to be heard above the raging wind. Narrowing her eyes, she continued with her grisly work. Threading her needle, she moved onto the next cut on Nick's back, pausing only to wipe away the blood with a scrap of fabric soaked in cleansing potion.

Nick winced in response, and a loud rumbling laugh echoed from Morgan's jaw as he beat his wings, climbing higher and higher into the sky. The clouds were growing thick above them, but it would be wise to get above at least the lowest ones to keep safe from prying eyes. Not that she knew who would be here to see them over the open ocean, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Well?" Alyssa barked, not amused by the laughter. Was something funny? Nick's back looked like it had pelted with pieces of broken glass, and she did not believe the excuse about taking a tumble on the shore.

"Can we just move on, please," muttered Nick, his tone distinctly grumpy.

"No." Alyssa smacked him upside the head before moving on to the next cut. "Now, stop being a baby and tell me what happened."

" _Well, Alyssa, when a man loves a man—"_

"Morgan, shut up," scolded Nick. A snowball burst out of his hand and smacked the dragon on the snout, melting on impact. "Ow! Godmother's sake, Alyssa, watched that needle."

Honestly, Alyssa hadn't meant to give him a poke, but it was rather hard to keep still when on the back of a soaring dragon, and it didn't help that she was fighting to keep down her laughter. _Really? Really?_

"Well, thank you for alerting me to the perils of having sex on a beach," she said drily. "Now, stop squirming and let me finish stitching up this last cut. Honestly, why wouldn't you two just quit after the first injury?"

Nick mumbled something that had Morgan roaring with laughter, and Alyssa shook her head before finally making the last stitch. Knotting the last thread in place before shearing it free with her knife, she tucked her medical supplies back into her bag and leaned back against the bony spike behind her. Say what you will about having to travel this way, but nobody in the world could deny that Morgan was a comfortable mount.

"What was that, Nick?" she asked again, poking the back of his shoulder after he'd been given time to pull his shirt back on. "I didn't quite catch it the first time."

"I didn't notice," he muttered, his cheeks blazing redder than her hair. "I was distracted."

" _A common theme, really,"_ chimed in Morgan. " _I'm just that good."_

"When this is over and the people who write history books detail our adventure, let it be known that I will freely inform all who will listen that first blood was drawn by your sex life." Alyssa shook her head.

Nick turned even redder. Leaning forward, he buried his head against Morgan's scales. Fighting the temptation to tease him for a little bit longer, she folded her arms across her chest. She missed this: the ribbing and laughter that had been so common during their younger years. Honestly, she was being kind. If Cornelius was here, the teasing wouldn't end until they landed, and Nick would probably be tossing snowballs like there was no tomorrow.

She paused, the warmth leaving her as quickly as it had come. If Cornelius was here.

Alyssa sucked in a breath. No. She could not fall to pieces _again._ She had grieved and she had mourned, but enough was enough. If every smile and every laugh she had was stolen by the memory of him, then how could she hope to accomplish all she needed to? Pitch needed to be stopped, and the two kingdoms that she ruled needed to thrive. Her children needed a mother, and her friends needed her to stand with them. There were a lot of people counting on her to _live,_ and to not sink into grief at the ghosts of her past.

Steeling herself, she wiped the tears from her eyes, and she turned her gaze to the sky ahead. A sea of clouds stretched ahead of her, and the cold wind whipped at her face. The flight would take almost a day, but by nightfall, she was certain they would reach their destination. That was what she needed to focus on. The road ahead was more important than what lay behind her, and if she looked back, she would crumble.

" _We've got stormclouds in the distance,"_ thought-spoke Morgan. " _Hold on."_

Alyssa could see no signs of a storm, but a dragon's eyes were far better than hers. Shifting, she braced herself against the nearest spike and wrapped her arms around it. Her fingernails curled into claws as fur sprouted across her arms. Drawing upon the beast, she looked up in time to see Nick slip off his boots.

Honestly, she wasn't sure why he'd been wearing his shoes in the first place. He couldn't fly with them on, and while she didn't think Morgan would drop them, wouldn't it have been better to have been prepared for that eventuality? Then, she blinked. To her surprise, Nick wasn't securing himself in place. Rather, he'd stood up on Morgan's head, holding on to one horn for balance. In his other hand, he held his staff, the diamond glittering.

In the distance, Alyssa could just make out the crackles of lightning dancing across the sky. The sea of clouds beneath them had grown grey, but where the storm roiled, they were black as smoke, and even from this height, Alyssa could hear the sea raging beneath them. Swallowing thickly, she dug in tighter.

A frigid gale erupted from behind her. The rain froze around them, forming hailstones, and the wind surged ahead. It shrieked in her ears, carrying with it chinks of frost and flurries of snow. With a frenzied howl, it smashed into the storm, ripping through the clouds. In seconds, they'd soared into the breach.

"Hold on," yelled Nick, raising his staff above his head. The diamond glittered, and he tottered. Sheets of ice spread out around them to catch the lightning as quickly as it came, filling the sky with ricocheting shards as they collided. Hoarfrost twisted across his face like a wreath of ivy, curling across his cheeks and disappearing down his collar. The frost was pink beneath his nose, and to her dismay, she realized he was bleeding. _No._

" _Just a little further."_ Morgan's voice bellowed in their heads, his wings straining to keep aloft amidst the frenzied winds and flurry of hail and sleet.

Nick nodded, and he stumbled forward, his gaze slightly unfocused. He thrust out his staff, conjuring a sheet of ice just in time to divert a bolt of lightning, and rubies seemed to be spilling from his nose. _Not rubies. Frozen blood._ With a deafening crack, a web of lightning forked across the sky, and Nick's eyes gleamed as he blocked the bolts.

Keeping one arm wrapped around her spike, Alyssa reached for the nearest one. Her claws closed around the bone, and she jerked herself forward, though she was very nearly knocked off Morgan's back altogether by the gale. With a grunt, she repeated the process twice more until she was at the top of Morgan's neck. She barely made it in time. Nick stumbled, his grip loosening upon the horn, and Alyssa's arm shot out to close around his belt, keeping him from falling.

The icy wind came to a sudden end as his concentration broke, and the storm erupted around them. Thunder cracked in their ears, and bolts of lightning wove through the clouds. Morgan roared as he was blown aside, and Nick was almost limp as she yanked him into her. Wrapping one arm around him and one arm around the nearest spike, she held on with everything she had.

There was nothing else she could do right now. She could not fight a storm.

" _Almost out, He okay?"_

"Nick!" She had to scream to be heard above the wind. "Nick! Wake up!"

Nick groaned into her ear, but that was enough. Keeping her hold on him, she turned her attention to Morgan. "How much further?"

" _Not long!"_

A bolt of lightning forked across the sky, and Morgan roared in pain. Alyssa shrieked as she was nearly jolted out of her seat, and it took everything she had to keep hold of both the spike and Nick. Her stomach roiled at the scent of burning flesh, and she shuddered. Morgan was hurt. That much was clear, but she could barely keep her eyes open in the wind, and there was no way of telling how bad the damage was.

 _Godmother above? Where'd this storm even come from? Where they going down? She couldn't tell._

"Morgan," she screamed. "Can you still fly?"

" _Barely."_ His thought-speech was twisted, sounding as though he was speaking through gritted teeth. " _I'll manage. Just hold on."_

The next hour passed by in a blur. True to his word, Morgan remained aloft, struggling against the furious winds as best he could. Finally, when the gale died around her, Alyssa cracked open her eyes and was met with an almost eerie calm. Nick was still in a daze, lolling listlessly at her side. Mercifully, the bleeding had stopped, but try as she might, he couldn't be roused.

" _That was close."_

"You can say that again," replied Alyssa. She could still smell the burned flesh, but try as she might, she couldn't see the burn. "What was that?"

" _No more Mother Nature. No more Trident,"_ thought-spoke Morgan. " _There's nothing keeping the ancient storms in check any longer. Nick and I didn't expect them to be this bad."_

Alyssa didn't know what to say. One would think that she'd have been told about the risk of these storms before she'd been fighting through one, but she couldn't bring herself to be angry at Nick or Morgan for keeping her in the dark right now… not with Morgan injured and Nick still unconscious.

She slumped against the spike, the exhaustion of their ordeal finally catching up to her now that it was over. For a moment, she considered closing her eyes before pinching herself to stay awake. Bleary eyed, she stared out into the horizon, and the sight that awaited her caused her to blink in surprise.

Land. Finally… in the distance, she could see land.

"Is that?" she asked.

" _Easter Island,"_ replied Morgan, sounding just as exhausted as her. " _Finally."_

* * *

Christopher raced through the mud. His hair was plastered to his brow, and sweat dripped down his face. His feet ached, but he couldn't stop, even as his muscles screamed for a rest. Heavy footfalls sounded behind him, sending a spasm of terror through his back, but he dared not look back. _It_ was getting closer—that thing—and if he stopped running, he'd die. _Run. Keep running. Don't look back._

Mud splattered his legs, the waterlogged ground clinging to his boots in an attempt to trap him. Twice, he nearly lost his balance, and there was a sharp burning in his shins. He didn't know how much longer he could keep going, but there was nowhere to hide from his pursuer. The trees that rose around him were narrow and scraggly, bare branches scratching at the sky, and there was little in the way of undergrowth save for a few cattails and rushes.

 _It_ was catching up to him, so close that he could feel the hot rush of fetid breath upon the back of his neck, along with the globules of slobber that escaped from its maw. His heart was a drum in his ears, and he could do nothing but keep running. It screeched, and from the corner of his eye, he saw its clawed limb come rushing at him.

Pain bloomed across his back as the claws sank it, ripping through cloth and skin and flesh, and he screamed as he went down. _This was it. He was done for._ He fell, and _it_ lunged, and the ground gave way beneath him. Christopher fell through nothing, the wind whistling past his ears.

He woke with a jolt, his eyes flaring open in panic. The night was cool and clear, the sky swaying above in time with the movements of their canoe. Crickets chirped from the shores, and every so often, there was a soft splash as a fish broke the surface of the gently-flowing river. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the calm around him rather than the chaos in his mind. _It was just a dream,_ he thought, _just a nightmare._

"You say such interesting things in your sleep," said Kaya, and Christopher stifled a groan at the reminder of her presence before opening his eyes. She was sitting at the other end of the canoe, her arms folded behind her head, her eyes glinting in the moonlight.

The way she stared at him was rather unnerving, almost as she was a predator and he was the prey. Swallowing, he pulled himself up until he was reclining against the side of the boat, and he schooled his features into a mask. _What had he said?_ Had it been about the nightmare, the memories of which were already trickling from his mind like grains of sand? Had it been something else? His friends? His worries? What had he inadvertently spilled?

"Who's Jessica?"

His mask almost slipped. Sucking in a breath, he pinched himself to keep his composure. This was not something he'd expected to have to answer and, in fact, a part of him had been hoping that by leaving it in the past, he'd be able to forget. Yet, the wounds were still as raw as ever, even if he knew that he had no right to feel hurt by the way it had ended. That… that had been his doing, and Jessica had been the victim, not he.

"Somebody I used to know," he replied in as smooth a voice as he could muster.

"You asked for her to forgive you," said Kaya, her expression strange. "To me, that makes it sound like—"

"I'm not in the habit of discussing my life with strangers," he said, cutting her off before she could give voice to whatever she _thought_ it meant. "Don't pry."

"What a strong reaction over someone you used to know." Kaya rolled her eyes. "It's okay. You've already given me the answer."

Christopher snorted. He knew what she was doing, and he wasn't interested in playing this game. Folding his arms across his chest, he made a show of turning his attention to the river. Excluding his present company, the canoe ride was quite comforting. He was no stranger to travelling by boat. Indeed, the most beautiful cities of Renvale had no roads. Instead, there were canals, and when the tide came rushing in, the city of Frelia would become an island accessible only by ferry.

It felt like almost a lifetime had passed since he'd last drifted down the canals with a sketchpad on his lap, his fingers stained black with charcoal, making polite conversation with the gondoliers as he moved. Of course, there'd often be hell to pay when he eventually returned to his family's chateau, but then again, there was always hell to pay when it came to his mother.

A breeze ghosted across his face, and he looked up in time to see the leaves and feathers fluttering across Kaya's lap. She looked towards their destination, whispering something to the wind that he couldn't hear.

"Mom has arrived at the Willow Grove," she said in a satisfied voice. "The way ahead is clear. We'll be there in a few hours."

"Good," replied Christopher. "I'm sure you're looking forward to finally being rid of me."

"Babysitting Greenlanders is hardly my idea of a good time," she replied without missing a beat. "Especially ones as soft as you are."

"What do you have against _Greenlanders_?" he retorted. "You say the word with such… venom, but you've only met three. Me, Jian, and whoever Azzy is."

Kaya snorted. Leaning forward in her seat, she crooked a finger across her chin so that the tip teased at the corner of her mouth, and she shook her head. In the dim light cast by the moon, her eyes seemed more green than brown, and the leaves braided through her hair appeared to twist and flutter. Christopher blinked. No, he wasn't imagining it. Stalks were curling from the leaves to twirl through her hair, twisting like ivy until she was all but wearing a crown.

"I know of your kind," she said. "The people who see the world as a dead thing to be claimed. The people who see a forest and think of wood, who see a river and build a dam. In this land, nature is sacred, but in yours, it's just a means to an end." Her voice was a whisper, deadly quiet, and it sent a chill down his spine even as he was shaking his head. "Perhaps I do not know you, and perhaps I have not heard your tale, but the ruins that your kind have left behind are all the truth I need."

Ruins? Left by his kind? These were the Undiscovered Lands, emphasis on the word _undiscovered._ He was the first Renvalian to find himself on these shores in what must be generations, and his forebears had never ordered expeditions into this part of the world. In fact, he didn't think he knew of a kingdom that had done such things.

 _But, what reason would she have to lie?_

"I don't see how you can judge an entire people by the actions of a few," he said, treading lightly as he tried to make sense of what she had said. "If ever there were people from my part of the world on the shores of yours, then they're long dead."

"Oh, they're dead," she replied, "But it hasn't been all that long, has it? My mother was my age when she cast out Governor Ratcliffe and his ilk."

Christopher's frown deepened. The name rang a bell, but he had never been the best student of history. It was certainly not a Renvalian name, though… if anything, it sounded Somnian… or perhaps from Western Eléadoré. Still… if there'd been expeditions to this land, wouldn't he have known about it? He was a prince… and maybe he had never been the best prince, but he'd certainly know something like this.

"Or what of Orleans?" continued Kaya, interrupting his musings in that same chilling tone. "Oh, the foolishness of your kind knows no ends. You came with your ships and your axes, and you raised a city in the south… and you never wondered why those lands were deserted. You feared the swamp and the snakes, but you kind never saw the danger until it was too late. _The Shadowman._ It was your kind who woke him from his slumber, was it not? So yes, Greenlander, I speak of you with venom, because your kind poisons all it touches."

"An interesting way to look at the world," he replied, hoping that a shrug would be enough to hide how rattled he was. "To judge a man by the sins of those who came before, the sins that he himself is ignorant of."

This time, it was her turn to blink. Leaning back in her seat, the green dulled in her eyes, and she reached out to drag her fingers through the river.

"The memories of my people run deep," she replied. "Unlike yours, it would seem. Now be quiet. We will be there soon."


	60. Grandmother Willow

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-Three**

 **Grandmother Willow**

* * *

 **.**

Margaret landed on the beach in a dishevelled heap. It was one thing to have to wear riding leggings and a wayfarer's blouse, to have goose wings, and yes, maybe there were heels on her boots, but the colour was a drab brown when she'd have much preferred something pink, but having to tumble into damp sand was another matter entirely. _Nibs,_ she cursed under her breath.

Climbing to her feet, she smoothed out her clothes and dusted off the sand before turning to find him. At the sight of him standing nearby in his ridiculous waistcoat whilst casually glancing at his pocket-watch, she could have yanked the ears out of his head. He was the… well, gentleman was a very strong word, but he was the _man_ in this situation, and she was a princess. It was his duty to help her up, not stand there with that infuriatingly uncouth smirk on his face.

"First time travelling by rainbow?" he asked, looking rather amused. "You get the hang of it."

"Listen here, you ruffian," she snapped. "Stop twitching your ears and help me get onto solid ground. My heels are sinking into this infernal sand."

"I told you to wear flats," he said with a long-suffering sigh. Rolling his eyes, he strolled towards her as if he was on a morning constitutional before making a show of offering her his arm. "May I, oh wondrous princess?"

"Shut up," she snapped, but she accepted the hand anyway.

As they made their way up the beach, she glanced around at this strange place. The trees looked rather strange and unfamiliar. _The Plains Nation,_ she thought. Apparently, this was one of those trivial kingdoms that existed in the Undiscovered Lands to the west, but she really couldn't see what the big fuss was about. The beaches here, for one, were nothing like the picturesque coasts of Renvale. There were no cabins or bungalows, no lady waltzing across the sand selling ice-cream, and there didn't even seem to be a lifeguard. In fact, there didn't seem to be anyone here at all.

It was a wild, almost savage place, all white-gold sand and roaring waves which gave way to thick jungle, and the stones rising from the sea were rough and jagged. Even the birds looked odd. She glared at a passing white-flapping-thing as it made its way through the sky, shaking her head in disdain.

"So?" she asked. "Where is my brother?"

"Somewhere." Nibs gestured towards the jungle. "Rainbow travel isn't an exact science, you know, but there's no other way of magically getting here. Speaking off…" He raised a hand and screwed up his face in concentration before shaking his head. "No magic. Who'd have thought? Guess I'm roughing it."

 _No magic?_ Margaret yanked the Omnicron free from her belt in alarm, and to her shock, it didn't fall open at her touch. Desperately, she tried to pry open the pages, only for the book to remain locked shut, almost as if it had been glued together. _No magic? Nibs, you bloody moron._

"Would it have killed you to mention our magic wouldn't work here?" She scowled as she slid the Omnicron back into place in its holster. "We could have brought weapons."

"I didn't know _my_ magic wouldn't work here," he said with a shrug. "I'm a Lost Boy, not a Guardian, but apparently that cantankerous old tree shuts down everything related to Tsar Luna."

"But you knew _my_ magic wouldn't work here." She fought back the urge to slap him. Deciding to reiterate her earlier point, she fixed him with a glare that could curdle milk. "We could have brought weapons if you'd made the point earlier."

"Can you use a weapon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Personally, I've never needed to, so I'm a bit useless with them."

"That is beside the point," she snapped. "It is better to have an axe to wave at someone who wants to kill you than to not have an axe at all."

"An axe?" Now he seemed distinctly amused. "I'm afraid that I'd have trouble swinging an axe, and you don't have my muscles."

"Muscles?" Margaret scoffed before poking a single manicured nail into his bicep. "You have no muscle."

"I have plenty of muscle." He flexed, his scrawny arms straining within their cotton sleeves. "Poke me again and see."

"Fine," she said. She prodded him in the gut, and to her surprise it wasn't quite as soft as she'd pictured it to be—but it was not something she'd call muscled either. She poked again, harder this time, her nail digging through his shirt. _Yes, definitely somewhat firm, but not a six-pack in sight._

"Ouch," yelped Nibs, his ears twitching as he hopped backwards. "I said poke not dig."

Against everything, a breath of laughter escaped her lips. Catching herself immediately, she schooled her features into an impassive mask and jerked a finger towards the jungle. Without waiting for another bit of nonsense to escape his mouth, she began to walk. The smell of moss and damp earth invaded her nose the second she'd entered the place, and it was decidedly cooler than it had been on the beach. She picked up her pace, the canopy growing thicker and thicker until the light was dappled green, and she sighed. This was going to take forever, and there was no telling how large the jungle actually was.

For all she knew, it could be the size of a kingdom and her brother could be all the way on the other end, which would be Nibs' fault given he'd been the one steering that infernal rainbow. _Rainbow travel isn't precise, Margaret!_ Forgive her for not believing him, because it was becoming rather clear that Nibs was doing everything in his power to irk her.

Wait.

Their magic didn't work in this confounded land, and they'd travelled here by rainbow.

"Nibs," she said, her voice frostier than she'd ever heard it. "When we find my brother, and we will find him, mind you, how precisely are we going to get out of here?"

Nibs' footsteps came to a sudden halt, and it was all the confirmation she needed as she rounded on him. Jabbing her finger into his chest, she scowled, her ire all but spilling from her ears and nose. Her wings flared out around her, and she jabbed him again, harder this time.

"You wretched, uncouth, reckless, stupid, rabbit-eared, mildly attractive, lacksadaisical, sarcastic, irritating, annoying, foolish, idiotic moron," she ranted. "You didn't think of how we're going to get out of here, did you?"

"Well, excuse me, you goose-winged harpy," retorted Nibs, "But maybe I'd have been able to think things through better if you hadn't been screeching in my ears the entire time I was preparing for this trip."

"I do not screech!" Margaret screeched.

"One more word and I'm sending you right back to Neverland." Nibs' ears twitched.

"Good luck trying, you can't do magic in this wre—"

A loud howl tore through the air, and the words died in her throat. Her eyes growing wide as saucers, she glanced through the jungle in search of whatever had made the sound, gooseflesh prickling along her arms. That… it sounded like a wolf, but there couldn't be wolves in this land, could there? A second howl, shriller than the first, pierced the quiet, and a third howl answered.

She shivered, backing away until she collided with Nibs. To her surprise, his arms shot around her, steadying her to keep her from slipping into the damp leaves and mud.

"Wolves," he whispered, and she didn't miss the strain of fear in his voice. "Lots of wolves."

"I can tell," she replied, fighting to keep her breathing steady. "What do we do?"

"Run?" he suggested.

"Run," she agreed, and without another word, they took off as quickly as they could.

* * *

Asmund Haddock was the firstborn son of King Hiccup of Berk and his first wife, Queen Astrid, and he had been the crown prince, destined to inherit the Dragonbone Throne. He'd been born with an axe in one hand and a flagon of ale in the other if the stories were to be believed, and he'd tamed his mount—Demre, the great white wyrm—when he'd been no more than three years old. The bards of Berk had once proclaimed that at the moment of his birth, the mountains themselves had whispered his name.

Asmund Haddock was currently living in a cave in the middle of nowhere. He spent his free time weaving reeds, and his crown was a hat designed to keep off the sun.

Jian pinched the bridge of his nose, not quite understanding what to make of this malarkey. The cave did seem homey, at the very least, but the drink was foul and yeasty, so thick that he could chew it if he tried. Compared to the stiff ale of Berk, it was ditchwater at best, but Asmund quaffed it as though it was the finest vintage in the world. After pretending to swallow another mouthful of the putrid drink, he set down his cup on the rustic table and sank back into the misshapen armchair.

"Start talking," he said, crossing his arms as he studied the other man.

"What about?" asked Asmund with a shrug. "We're here, it's a good day, and there's good _tula-pah_ to drink. Why waste it talking about the past?"

Jian favoured him with a withering glare. "Do I need to hit you again?"

"Like, you can if you want to." Asmund grinned. "Work out your hostility, mate, and then let it all go. It's all good."

"I am not hostile!" snapped Jian. "I'm just stranded in a backwards hovel of a civilization with no way home. In fact, there's never going to be a way back home because my _home_ is gone. You do know that the Imperium is gone, right? Not overrun, not under hostile role. Gone. But sure, I'll let it all go, and I'll just _stay_ here rather than—"

"Granted, the situation is not ideal, but it's the end of all, Jian," replied Asmund. Pausing to quaff up the last of his drink, he leaned back on his lumpy bed and folded his hands behind his head. "Listen, I was fourteen when I left home. I was sick of it, to be honest. All the scheming and the politics and the bloodshed. It was exhausting, you know? You should have left it all behind as well. We all should have. I mean, look at my life now. It's chill. I'm happy. I've got some good friends who like me for me and not what I can give them. I ride Demre for fun rather than war. I—"

"You broke your father's heart with your disappearing act," shot back Jian. "My mother always said the last light in King Hiccup's life left with you."

"Oh, is that so?" Asmund snorted. "I'm sure dear old Dad could get over it the same way he got over my mother."

Jian blinked. _Oh, for fuck's sake._ Really? This was what it boiled down to? Asmund had left without a word to anyone and let the world think him dead for over a decade because he was angry that King Hiccup had remarried? Godmother have mercy, but he'd deserved that punch. He deserved a dozen more, if Jian was being perfectly honest with himself.

He wanted to say something, but all his words died in his throat. This was just… he was at a loss for words. Why in the world was everyone so bloody dramatic? Getting a new stepmother? Run away from home forever. Want to protect your girlfriend? Abandon her and take off with a bunch of pirates. There were wars coming? Better go off into the wilderness with strangers to speak to a tree.

Honestly, Jian was just _done_. He wanted to get back to DunBroch and have a nice dinner with Sigrun before enjoying a nice night's sleep in a proper. There were many things that could be said about DunBroch, but it was _peaceful,_ and the people who lived there were actually sensible. His anger, which had been building for the entirety of the conversation, folded into itself, and he sank back into his chair.

"I don't know why you came to find me by the river," said Jian with a shake of his head. "I didn't know you were here. I didn't need to know that you were here. Nobody knew. But, I'm not going to sit around with you pretending that everything is fine, Asmund, because it's not fine, and whatever issues you have. You deal with them, but me? I want to go home. It's war and it's scheming and it's an entire mess, but I'm not going to run away from my problems because the going is getting hard. So, you… you sit here and enjoy this swill, and I'm going back to the village so I can at least try to find a way back home. Or train. Or do something other than sit around and pretend that it's all fine."

Rising from his seat, he turned and made for the exit. The cave didn't even have a proper door, he noted as he pushed aside the woven curtain and emerged into the fresh air. For the first time since coming to this land, he was glad that Sigrun wasn't with him. Every family had the one person that they couldn't take about without opening old wounds, for his girlfriend, that person was Asmund.

If she heard his sorry tale… Jian didn't know how she'd take it. Sigrun was strong, he knew that. She was one of the strongest people he'd ever met, but this would hurt her in ways that no swords or axes could. When he got home, could he even tell her what he'd found? He didn't know. Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, he kept going, putting one foot in front of the other as he made his way down the hillside towards the village.

"That was a very eloquent speech." Asmund's voice carried in the wind, and Jian stiffened. He hadn't expected the man to come after him, and he'd hoped that his outburst would have been enough to discourage further attempts at approaching him. He kept silent, and didn't bother turning to acknowledge the Viking.

"I've heard it before, you know?" continued Asmund. "Thing is, I am dealing with my baggage. I removed myself from the problem, because being a crown prince? Marrying a princess and raising a bunch of brats? Scheming with my court and dealing with nobles and having to move mountains whenever someone so much as snubs a toe? That isn't me. It's never been me. I didn't want it. I never asked for it. I just happened to be born into it, and guess what, I didn't like it. So I walked away, and I'm doing a lot better."

Asmund scoffed. There was a low rumble upon the air, followed by a the heavy whoosh of wings. A shadow passed over them, and Jian looked up to see Demre, the great white wyrm himself, swooping down onto the hill. His white scales glimmered in the sunlight, his claws trailing ragged strings of flesh. He'd been hunting, clearly, and Jian had been around the dragons of Berk long enough to know he'd returned to his master without finishing his meal.

Demre growled, his warm breath washing across Jian's back, and the sensation was enough to make him finally turn back to Asmund. The viking stood beside his dragon's head, stroking Demre's snout.

"You want to talk about running away from your problems?" Asmund snorted. "How about we talk about my sister's missing eye. That one was all you, wasn't it?"

"How do you—" Jian paled.

"The winds talk, and so do the mountains, if you have the ear to actually listen to what they have to say," replied Asmund with a shrug. "You think I don't know what's going on back home? Please, I know more than enough. I know that most of the council have bitten the dust, the poor devils, but really, what chance did they think they had against Pitch Black? I know there's a new king here and a new queen there and none of them are fit to wear their parents' crowns. I know that for all your whining about the wars to come, you've spent the last year hiding in DunBroch between my sister's legs because Queen Merida doesn't want to involve herself with the wars outside her borders, but you know, you don't have the stomach to chew her out because she'd rip you apart with her bare hands. See, I know that you're a decent guy because as much as I don't care for Sigrun, I know she'd never settle for a useless lickspittle, but I also know that you'll only mouth off to people you think can't kick your Imperial ass all the back to the ruins of your homeland."

Asmund rolled his eyes.

"What?" he concluded. "Nothing to say for once?"

"Tough talk for a guy who ran away from home to drink away his days in a cave," retorted Jian, his shock giving way to anger. Who was this… this _bastard_ to tear into him like this?

"No," said Asmund. "Tough talk from a guy whose been fighting the same war you have. It's a big world, Jian. You really think we haven't seen our share of hell here?"

"Berk—"

"Is not my home," said Asmund with a note of finality in his voice. "This cave is, and this land is, and our borders are stained red. So, are you done riding the high horse, or are you going to keep making life difficult for all involved?"

Jian was at a loss. This… was not how he'd seen things going after his outburst. He'd expected Asmund to be chastened, but the Viking had somehow found himself on the moral high ground. For a moment, it had been as if he wasn't speaking to Asmund at all, but rather to King Hiccup in his prime, and he wouldn't lie and say that it hadn't been vaguely intimidating.

He blinked, and it occurred to him that he may have lost sight of the bigger picture while lost in his own losses. Just a little, of course, because he still had his priorities in order. Still, maybe he had been rather unpleasant to the people around him for a while. Letting out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding,

Taking a deep breath, he outstretched a hand.

"So," he said with a wry look on his face. "How about that drink?"

"On one condition," said Asmund.

"What?"

"Hold still while I punch you in the face." The Viking smirked. "Then we're even."

* * *

The Warren lay in ruins.

As Nick stared at the crumbling pillars and caved-in tunnels, he couldn't help but remember the place as it had once been. On a winter solstice so very long ago, he father had brought him and his mother here to see the place where the magic of Easter was made. It had been bright and vibrant. Thousands of little eggs had scurried across the ground while rows upon roses of flowers had blown forth wisps of colored ink, and the river had run thick with paints in every shade of the rainbow. It had been a beautiful place; a magical land of tunnels located deep beneath the surface of Easter Island.

There'd been sparkles and glitter and magic, and he'd accidentally tumbled into the river and been covered in magical dye for days after. His father had yanked him out by his ankle before he could be carried by the current into the tunnel, and his mother had been beside herself with laughter at the sight of his rainbow coloured skin and hair.

The memory made him want to cry. Lips trembling, he sagged into Morgan's side. It was beginning to sink in—truly sink in—that the Guardians were gone, that his father's entire legacy had been undone. If… if this was what the Warren had been reduced to, then Punjam Hy Loo would likely be in a similar state. Was Neverland still standing? Pixie Hollow?

"I'm sorry," murmured Morgan, wrapping a steadying arm around him. His boyfriend walked with a slow gait, favouring his left leg as he did so. If anything, it was a miracle he was walking at all after the lightning strike, but a dragon's skin was resilient. Still… it would definitely leave another scar on Morgan's skin.

Nick nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He should have expected this. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he glanced around the caverns a second time, taking in the desolation with a more practical eye. There had clearly been a fight of some sort here, which made little sense considering Bunnymund had fallen alongside the other Guardians at the North Pole. Yet, _someone_ or _something_ had clearly destroyed the stone eggs and laid waste to the Warren, but why? Without Bunnymund, the place was just a series of magical caverns.

"What caused this?" asked Alyssa, giving voice to his thoughts.

"An old foe, perhaps," said Morgan. "Might be someone taking advantage of Bunnymund not being around anymore to try settling a score?"

"Maybe," said Nick. "Or maybe someone with the same idea as us."

"You think someone else is looking for the Guardian's secrets?" asked Alyssa, glancing around. Her hand rested upon her rapier, and she sniffed the air. "I can't get much in the way of a scent. This entire place smells strange."

"That it does," replied Morgan. "Mother did say that the Kingdom of the Sun has fallen. You don't think the Hollow Ones could have broken in here?"

"It's a possibility, but we'd recognise their stench," said Alyssa warily. "No. It wasn't them."

"If someone was here with the goal of defeating Pitch, they wouldn't have thrashed the place," said Nick. "No. If they were here in search of the Guardian's secrets, then it can only mean they wanted to destroy them before someone like us could find them." In his mind, it made sense, and it's honestly what he'd do if the roles were reversed.

Steadying himself, he strode forward, extending his staff in front of him. The Nightlight glowed with pale-blue light, and he took a deep breath. Relaxing, he focused on his staff, letting the world itself fall away around him. _Aurum Gold has a memory._ It had guided him during the ordeals in Corona, and it had aided him in taming the blizzards of Arendelle. He would have to trust in it once more.

Guided by the staff, he walked across the rubble. It was as though an invisible string had been tied to his navel. It tugged at him almost gently, leading him towards a caved-in tunnel that seemed to go uphill, and he paused. There was no way forward, but there was something on the other side that he needed to find.

The Nightlight's tugging grew more insistent, and he turned to his companions

"I'm going to need to clear a path," he said. "Morgan?"

"Might be a bit outside the realms of what my magic is capable of, Nick," replied his boyfriend, worrying at his lip. "We'll need to clear it the—"

"Can you melt it if Nick freezes it?" asked Alyssa. "I imagine dragonfire is easier for you than casting a spell?"

"Probably, but this entire place might come down if we melt the wrong place," said Morgan, frowning at the ceiling. "These caverns have definitely seen better days."

"It's still worth a shot," said Nick. "I can conjure support pillars made of ice if anything goes wrong."

Reaching out with his staff, he brushed his staff against the rubble. A ripple of cold passed along his arm, and then several tendrils of ice crept out of his staff. It coiled around the rocks like snakes before sinking in. Before his eyes, the rock turned to ice, and he smiled as he took a few steps back to give Morgan room.

Morgan roared. Nick turned, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement at the sight of his boyfriend standing before the frozen rocks. The roiling green flames cut through the ice in seconds, and Nick's amusement turned to apprehension when the sides of the tunnel began to melt. The molten stone dribbled across the walls.

By the time Morgan was done, Nick was afraid that the tunnel itself would melt into itself, for the stone was red-hot and, in some places, molten. As his boyfriend gasped for breath, he took a few steps forward and thrust out a hand. A tendril of frost curled around his knuckles, and a gust of cool air billowed out of his palm.

Taking care to cool the tunnel slowly—Nick knew full well what happened to hot things cooled down too quickly—he bit his lip as the tugging at his navel intensified. There was something there. He was sure of it. At first, it had just been a hunch, but now that the way was clear, he could almost sense the presence of something important on the other side of the tunnel.

"Something's in there," he muttered as he led the way into the tunnel. "Keep behind me, but stay on guard."

* * *

Alyssa did not know what awaited them at the end of the tunnel, but to her surprise, it was simply an empty bedroom. She glanced around; it looked as though someone had left in a hurry, but unlike the rest of the Warren, the room was perfectly in order. The stone walls of the cave were panelled with rich wood, and the room was furnished in elegant furniture.

She paused, blinking in surprise. The table was smooth wood, yet the legs were carved with a pattern of fleur-de-lis. Turning, she studied the rest of the room with greater care. _Roses engraved onto the mantel._

And… there, upon the bedside table. Striding past Nick and Morgan, she reached out and picked up the picture frame, her eyes growing wide at the picture within. A beautiful woman in vibrant silks, clutching a tambourine in one hand and a shawl in the other. Her hair was black and wild, spilling around her face as she moved, the picture capturing her in mid-dance as flames licked at her heels.

"Lady Esmeralda," she said with a frown. "But…"

It made no sense. What was a picture of Esmeralda of Amoré, General Silvanus' _grandmother_ , doing all the way on the other side of the world? She sniffed at the air, trying to find a familiar scent, but all she smelled was rabbit. Setting down the picture, she turned her attention to the mantle, studying the roses. Yes… she hadn't imagined it.

The engravings were of the royal sigil of Amoré.

"The Guardians did have lives before they were raised," said Nick, studying a row of paintings upon the wall. "They keep their identities closely guarded, but I know of one. Erm… Santa, before he was raised, was Tsar Nicholas of The Old Kingdom, father of Queen Anastasia."

"The Godmother is Alice of Wonderland," said Morgan with a shrug. "Mother told me about it years ago, but she didn't know about any of the others. That's interesting, though, about Santa."

"And the Easter Bunny was an Amoréan," said Alyssa, _with some relation to Esmeralda…_ If there were more clues, perhaps she'd be able to work it out better, but all she had was that one picture. She would have to speak to Silvanus when she returned. Perhaps there was somebody in his grandmother's life who would fit the role?

"Alyssa?" said Nick. "I think we've found something."

She turned to find him standing beside a bookcase, perusing a worn tome. The leather peeled, and the binding was frayed, and a single glance at the cover was enough to tell her it was written in the tongue of Old Amoré. She frowned. It had been years since she'd had to study the language—one that had died centuries ago—and she could barely remember the words.

"There was an Amoréan colony in the Undiscovered Lands, was there not?" he asked, looking up from the book. "Orleans of the Bayou? I recall my tutors telling me about it when I was a child."

"There was," she replied, her frown deepening. The words of her governess came rushing back to her, and she gnawed upon her lower lip. "During the Years of Conquest, if you recall, when empires rose and fell, and the kingdoms we rule were born. Amoré sought to seize Albion of Old, and we were pushed back into the sea, and for the avarice of King Alexandre who dared defy the rule of the Once and Future King, the sea rose up to swallow those who fled. Defiant, Alexandre of Amoré declared he would carve himself a new empire, and so he sailed with a hundred ships to the Undiscovered Lands, wherein he was beset by storms and plagues throughout his voyage…"

She trailed off, trying to remember the rest, but it was an effort in futility. She had never been a scholar of note, and all she could remember was whatever she had committed to memory.

"Orleans of the Bayou stood for some time," chimed in Morgan, his expression curious. "My mother told me about it. She said that she visited the ruins during her travels."

"Bunnymund declares the secret histories are stored in the catacombs beneath Orleans," said Nick, setting down the book. "For the Undiscovered Lands are a place that do not fall beneath Tsar Luna's shadow. We have to go there."

"Easier said than done, Nick," said Morgan with a shake of his head. "It's the Undiscovered Lands. The rules of magic are different there."

"And yet we have to go," said Nick grimly. "If there's even a shred of a chance that the secret to defeating Pitch is in Orleans, we have no choice but to go."

* * *

Christopher believed that in every part of the world, there was a place of true beauty. In Amoré, it had been the Rose Gardens. In Agrabah, it had been an oasis that Ali had taken him too, and in Renvale, it was Frelia, that ancient city upon the lagoon. When he'd been a child, he'd dreamed of visiting these wondrous places and capturing them upon a canvas, though he'd always known that he'd never be able to truly recreate their beauty.

Now, in the Plains Nation… he'd found another wonder. The Willow Grove was a misnomer of a name, for there was nought but a single willow tree. It rose from a stony island in the middle of a still pool that was fed by a dozen rivers, if not more, and the leaves fell in thick curtains that blotted out the sun. The willow tree was enormous; so tall that there was no way it could be climbed and yet, it didn't look out of place. It was a miracle that he hadn't seen it sooner as they'd made their way downriver, but the grove was lost in a sea of fog. At first, he'd thought it was simply the weather, but as he'd drifted closer… he'd realized that it was simply the magic of this place.

"Your jaw is hanging open." Kaya sounded smug.

Numbly, Christopher nodded and closed his mouth. He took a ginger step out of the canoe, and what felt like an electric shock raced through him as his foot touched the stone. Ripples flowed across a dozen tiny pools, each as clear as a mirror, and there was an almost monstrous creaking as in front of him, the willow tree _moved._

"Grandmother Willow," murmured Pocahontas, emerging from the mist to stand beside him. She lay a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. "Have no fear, Christopher Charming, she means you no harm."

"Good to know," muttered Christopher, his gaze fixed upon the tree.

A weathered, wizened, withered face emerged from the rough bark. It was the face of a kindly grandmother, and as her soft wooden eyes opened to match his gaze, a warmth spread through his body. It started in his chest and bloomed, and when he looked down, he was no longer dressed in the buckskin apparel of this land. Instead, he wore his green doublet and his dark breeches, and his boots were shiny and comfortable. Reaching up, he touched his hair, soft and wavy and properly cut, and in his heart of hearts, he knew it was a lie. He'd hacked at his hair with a dagger just a week ago when it had finally reached an impractical length, and he knew that the cut was rough.

Christopher looked up again, and he wasn't in the Willow Grove. Instead, he was in the palace of Renvale, and he stood beside his father's throne. A firm hand closed around his arm, and he flinched. He knew that _touch,_ and it made no sense to feel it now. _Father._ But… Father was dead. King Florian was dead. He was dead. He was gone. He was nothing but bones. Christopher jerked away, and like glass, the illusion shattered, and he was cold again.

"That was nasty," he said to the tree, shaking his head. His father's phantom touch lingered on his arm like a block of ice, sending a shiver down his spine. "That was cruel."

"No," said Grandmother Willow, her voice deep and rich and gravelly. "It was a test, and you passed. You are gifted, child… very few in this world can awake from a dream that I invoke."

A dream? Christopher raised an eyebrow. He didn't fully understand the scope of his Dreamtouch, but if it gave him some mild immunity from the illusions of others… He paused, contemplating this new bit of information before filing it away for later study. Right now, he had more important things to consider.

"Why did you wish to speak to me?" he asked, looking up at Grandmother Willow. "Am I, like… a Chosen One or something?"

"No, you're not a Chosen One," said Grandmother Willow. "But you're better than nothing, and we will have to make do."

 _Wow…_ To be perfectly honest, Christopher had not really expected to be a hero of prophecy akin to his ancestors, but the dismissal still stung.

"So what do you want from me?" he asked.

"I seek an end to the cycle," said Grandmother Willow. "Such is the task I was given as a sapling, and you are important. The Lord of Neverland is gone, but his work continues." Her wooden lips curled into a grim smile. "For the Nightmare grows, and the Dream brings refuge."

"I… I… I… am supposed to fight Pitch Black." Christopher's throat was drier than a bone. "You must be mistaken. I'm Christopher. I'm just Christopher. I can't fight the King of Nightmares."

"Your worth does not lie in a fight," she said gravely. "But that worth may be all that stands between us and the shadow." Her leaves swayed. "You asked if there was a Chosen One. There is not. No one person can change this world on their own, but together… it can be done."

The branches creaked above her eyes, and a recess in the trunk appeared. A slender branch dipped into the hole and drew out a single arrow. Christopher cocked his head to the side in confusion as the arrow was offered to him.

"This arrow was forged in the first age," she said, "To kill Pitch Black, for it is the one weapon in all of creation that can kill an Eternal. Rumpelstiltskin entrusted it to me, and he told me, all those millennia ago, that there will come a day when it must be given to mortal hands. Today is that day. Take it, child, and you will know what must be done when the time comes."

To say he was taken aback was an understatement, but Christopher accepted the arrow all the same. It was warm to the touch. The wood hummed beneath his fingers, and it was a wood he had never seen before that was paler than the moon and traced with veins of some rare metal. _Me? I'm not an archer? I haven't picked up a bow in years._

It didn't make sense.

"You will know when the time is right," she repeated, her eyes boring into his own. "Go south, King Charming, and you will the way home. In Orleans, upon the Bayou."


End file.
